The Eleventh Hour
by PhantomProducer
Summary: The world has changed, and changed again. At the eleventh hour, the swift actions of a few will decide the fate of many as a new age threatens to end it all. Though she is no hero, she will make sure that she will do all she can, for the hero she loves. Sequel to the CA fanfic, "At Day's End." Part two of the "Of Time" series. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I apologize for putting the author's note at the beginning of the chapter; I generally try not to do that anymore. HOWEVER, I have to put one up before you continue reading to let you know that this story is a sequel—yes, a sequel—to an OC fiction I've written called _At Day's End._ You can find it in the My Stories tab on my profile page. And because it is a sequel, the character of Holly Martin and her actions and interactions in this story are not going to make any sense if you haven't read it. I know, I'm asking a lot for you to read that story before you read this one, but please, give it a chance. And yes, it is a Steve Rogers/OC, as this will be, too.

Also, this story is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others', and therefore harder to coalesce with someone else's. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

That being said, allow me to throw in the disclaimer before we get started: I don't own anything from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I also don't own any other film references I make in the dialogue, specifically from _Star Wars_. I definitely don't own that, either.

Are we good? Have we covered everything? Well, then, on with the story!

* * *

That icy February evening, she found herself indoors, safe from the elements, her attention riveted elsewhere. She stared at the screen, seriousness in her frame and face as she watched the evening news play out. The story she'd been waiting for had finally aired, ever since she'd heard the whispers, so different from the ones that usually surrounded her. Little more was revealed than what she'd been told, but the reporter onscreen seemed confident in his retelling of the facts, of the mysterious persona cleaning up the streets. Her fingers toyed with the dog tags hanging around her neck, picking them up and letting them drop on her chest as the reporter kept speaking. Crime in a major city was nothing new; after all, she lived in Washington, D.C., and the place wasn't exactly Nicetown, U.S.A. But a masked vigilante coming down in the place of the police? That wasn't something one saw every day. Although, given what she'd seen and done over the past eleven months, it really shouldn't have intrigued her all that much.

After all, Holly Martin was dating a superhero herself; masked men in armor were becoming second nature, strange as that sounded.

"Too much television will rot your brain."

And speak of the devil, there he was, unclasping the chin strap of his helmet and setting it off to the side with his shield. His blond hair was matted down, though he swiped at it to fix it as he moved further into the space. Steve Rogers, Captain America and leader of the Avengers, had returned. A mission had drawn him and the team away just a day or two previously, busting a major black market operation that was turning over HYDRA intel as well. Wounds and criminals tended to, the team had come back to the Tower, set on breaking codes and interpreting the data files. However, given that he knew a special person had taken a trip up to see him for the weekend, he'd snuck out as quickly as possible to his quarters to find her.

Holly smiled at him, big brown eyes creasing at the corners and a smarmy smirk blooming on her lips. Getting out of her seat, she tripped down the hall to him, giving him a kiss that he happily accepted. He was home, he was safe in her arms, and she in his, at that moment.

"Thank you, old man," she said, wrinkling her nose as the scent of sweat and something she could only describe as 'gym bag funk' hit her. The mission, evidently, had been a very physically engaging one. "At least leave your boots in the front entry, please."

"You're welcome, and I'm glad to see you too, dear," Steve snarked back, raising an eyebrow but complying with her wishes. Getting out of the uniform was not his first priority upon getting back, but he could tend to it now. Once his boots were removed and tucked towards the wall by the door, he padded into the living room. As she sat down again, he pulled the snaps away from his neck piece, pausing in his ministrations as the newscast registered. Bending over and leaning his arms along the back of the couch, he let his fingers drop along her shoulder, absently tracing patterns along her sleeve as he watched. When a police sketch of a masked fellow with no eyes and a sharp chin flashed across the screen, he exhaled softly. "That again."

Holly nodded, raking a hand through her hair. "It's all anyone on the street can talk about. Or at least at the coffee shop I went to down the street was full of it. A man in a mask, trashing gangbangers left, right, and center. Some people speculate that he's working for you guys on the DL."

His brow furrowed at her use of slang, but he still got the gist of what she meant. When she looked up at him, she could see the disquiet in his bright gaze, and her tongue could not hold back on another question.

"You all have been keeping an eye on this situation, right? I mean, Hell's Kitchen is right there."

She gestured vaguely towards the west, her knowledge of the New York City layout not totally ingrained in her memory, like it was in his. Still, Steve gave her mental credit for being somewhat close.

"We've been trying to," he confessed, recalling how over the last couple of weeks Natasha had been following the blips on the radar close to home. To think that this was occurring under their noses for some time now…HYDRA was very consuming. "Criminals around here do tend to hide away from the major players, which is why this...whoever he is, is able to get at them more quickly than we have been. I hate to say it, but the New Yorkers don't involve us unless it is something much bigger than that. Something that can't be contained to a borough or two."

"Like aliens coming through a wormhole," Holly replied, his nod to her allusion confirming it.

"Their town, their turf, their problem, which is probably how this guy thinks, too. Still, he has been moving faster than the NYPD, which is..."

"Disconcerting?"

Steve shook his head, staring at his hands as he peeled off his fingerless gauntlets. "Puzzling. Disconcerting would imply that I'm more upset about it than I am."

Holly's eyebrows inclined slightly, taking the gauntlets from him and setting them on the coffee table. "And you're not."

He sighed, straightening his stance and hooking his thumbs in his belt. "It's more that I'm wondering if there will have to be a meeting sometime down the road."

"To set him straight?" she asked, not sure that would be the best course to take. Steve, however, was not of that mind.

"Not exactly. I don't disagree with what is going on, but I'm not comfortable with the fact that he's doing it without our knowing about it."

She snickered. "Closet control freak."

He gestured at the screen, her remark rolling off his back. "I'm a concerned individual. A concerned individual who happens to lead a team specifically designed to stem problems like criminal kingpins and mafiosos, but somehow this guy beats us to the punch."

"Literally, it seems," she retorted, wincing as images of the beaten and broken thugs being towed off in cuffs flashed across the screen. Shaking her head again, she muttered, "God, the world is a much stranger place than it used to be."

There had been a time in her life when the oddest occurrence had been limited to finding two yolks in one egg or getting home in rush hour traffic in under an hour. But that was before the helicarrier disaster, before she'd been directed to find an almost-dead body, before…well, before Steve, frankly. Actually, if she wanted to get technical, the blame could be laid directly at Tony Stark's feet. When the billionaire playboy made his famous announcement to the world all those years ago, Holly Martin didn't think such things could ever personally affect her life, her world. Boy, was she proven very, very wrong.

Steve shrugged, choosing that moment to come around the couch and sit next to her, his palm resting on her knee. "In my experience, it's always been a little sideways. You're just more inclined to acknowledge it as time goes on."

"I suppose," she acknowledged his point. Sighing, she continued, "But with all these advanced people coming out of the woodwork over the last few years, I feel like I'll have to roll around in toxic waste and gain radioactive superpowers just to keep up."

Steve chuckled at the mental image, smiling at her.

"Too good for injections and Vita-rays?"

Sticking out her tongue at him, she giggled, "Too outdated for my taste."

He held up a finger then, pointing it at her and adopting a mock serious tone. "That's twice in one night that you've called me old in some way, shape, or form. Keep pushing it, missy."

"Oh, yeah, what will you do?" she wondered, smirking playfully and poking his armored chest. "I dare you, give me a little what-for."

His blue eyes darkened slightly, her teasing stirring him. "I'll show you what-for."

"Promises, promises," she sing-songed, her heart beating a little faster as he continued to look at her that way.

"This is one I can keep," he said, sliding his hand from her knee up her thigh, his very real presence reinforcing the point.

He watched as she carefully lifted his hand off, rising from the couch and taking a few steps away, the gleam in her eye promising mischief. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder at him, licking her lips and parting them enough to speak. Though no sound issued forth, he could clearly understand the words she mouthed, egging him on. _Old man._

That did it. Immediately Steve was on his feet, chasing after her as she darted away, laughter trailing behind her. Giving his aptitude for strategic planning (she would use that as the excuse, rather than the fact that he was much, much faster than her), he cut off her escape down the far hall, backing her against the wall and pinning her there. Struggling against him was like trying to push past a stone wall, but still she tried, arching into him in an attempt to distract him. It only made him push back, his body overpowering hers.

"I told you!" he grunted, seizing her wrists and pinning them between their chests. "Now take it back."

She wriggled once more, snorting at his demand. "Nope."

"I'm not going to let go until you do," he warned her, the tone in his voice not as stern as he wished it to be. Inclining his head, he tried to keep his expression grim, but she saw right through that façade. She blew out a breath, her dark eyes dilating as she stared him down.

"Am I supposed to keep pretending that this bothers me? Because if that's what you're expecting," she told him, arching against him once more, "sorry to disappoint you."

No longer bothering with the pretense, he bent his head further, his lips capturing hers. Her mouth parted, tongue sliding along the seam of his lips until he let her in, moaning as he met her tongue with his. Freeing her wrists, his hands became otherwise occupied with her dark hair, her hips, her back, while the pads of her fingers gripped tightly on his armor, stymied by it. After a few moments, they broke apart, to breathe. Steve pressed his forehead against hers, lids still closed. He let the quiet sit around them a second or two before speaking.

"Come on."

Holly had to hand it to him; he was persistent, if nothing else. Deciding that it would just be better to get on with it, she conceded, "You're not old. Nerfherder."

"Thank you, Princess." Sporting his half grin, smug victory in it, he bussed her lips again, a light brush that sent tingles down her spine.

Inhaling sharply, she turned her head to the side, rolling her gaze up to the ceiling as the odor of his uniform penetrated the haze in her mind. "You certainly smell like a vigorous young man. Is it possible to wash the weave and kevlar, or is it more of a hose-down deal?"

"You'd be surprised," Steve responded, his grin subsiding a little as she grimaced at the implications. "I'll go shower."

"Appreciate it, sweetheart." Noting the downturn of his face, she grabbed his hand before he got too far, squeezing it gently. "And I am glad you made it back safe."

His fingers curled tightly around hers, his other hand reach out to brush the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. "I know. I am, too."

Releasing her, he paused at the bathroom door, glancing back at her curiously.

"How glad?" he asked. A deviant little smile graced her lips, her eyebrows inclining a fraction.

"Oh, you might get some idea, later."

"Now who's making promises?" he returned, his own expression matching hers. She shook her head, waving off his words.

"Shower or it definitely won't happen."

"Okay, I'm going..." He disappeared for a second before popping his head back out the door. "By the way, happy St. Valentine's Day. I got you a little something, but it'll have to wait until I'm done."

That said, he shut the bathroom door behind him, leaving Holly alone with the warmth of her heart and the coolness of her thoughts. Maybe the world was stranger, she thought as she meandered into the bedroom, extracting her Valentine's Day gift for him from its hiding place (this time, she would be ahead of him in regards to pleasant surprises). But, she mused as she began to shimmy on her stockings, it wasn't all bad. She would just have to take them as they came.

 **xXxXxXx**

The heavy, bolted door on the container buzzed, alerting the pair within of the arrival of others. Identical eyes glanced at one another, silently communicating before drifting towards the bodies spilling out of the walls, the ceiling, even the floor. Hired agents and metal androids were interspersed, all running straight towards them, their screaming reverberating in their ears.

Refusing to be impressed, the taller of the two snorted, shaking the white strands of hair that had fallen into his face before charging ahead. The smaller one looked on, standing her ground and turning her hands. A red aura surrounded them, twisting and sparking as she followed her brother's lead. It was a simple plan, one that they had recently turned over when forced into seclusion, away from the main compound. He would distract, and she would destroy.

He blitzed the humans, knocking them over before they could properly see him, well-timed jabs and punches flattening them. The robots were tougher, more of a problem… _obtiaž_ , he would say, though he was often scolded for straying out of the common language. However, in the heat of the moment, he hardly cared about his words and their origin; the programmed bots required his attention. These could not be manipulated on the inside. Rather, he twisted and turned around them, using the speed of his feet to his advantage to slam into them, split them to and through the core.

In the wake of the fallen, the sister arrived, palms spread and fingers contorting, the redness hovering around them spilling into the exposed men like dye into water. Their shouts echoed in the massive hall, the horrors of their minds taking over and allowing her to move on. This force that ran in her exploded out, blasting into droids who had broken off from the pack, thinking her an easier target than her brother. Her mouth curled up at the corners. She would show them how wrong they were.

Though apart, the siblings moved in tandem, in great harmony as they knocked and destroyed one after the other, their plan coming to fruition. However, though they were doing well, not all the foes they faced were easily overcome. A lone sentry, hidden in the decayed shack on the fringes of the battles, raised his weapon, the girl centered dead in the crosshairs of his scope. He waited, waited until she was distracted by her brother being pinned by an android, the stunning mechanism descending towards his face. As she ran to him, the sentry saw his shot. Calming himself, he squeezed the trigger.

The sensor in the back of the young woman's vest buzzed, followed shortly by the one situated in the chest of her brother's. The overhead lights dimmed for a moment before snapping on at full capacity. Breathing hard, the young woman took no delight in her progress, ignoring the incapacitated in favor of helping her brother shrug off the powered-down android. Her eyes snapped upward, unwittingly meeting the gaze of another, half snarling as she gave her sibling a hand up. Both of their attentions were riveted to an observation deck high above them, awaiting their fate.

Above it all, Baron Von Strucker watched, the expression on his face impassive. Behind the solid glass of the observation deck, he saw it all, and but for the minor twitch of his lips, no one could say for sure if he was pleased or not with the progress being made. The demonstration had, save for a few minor hiccups, been a success. The doctors surrounding the baron looked on, uncertain if they should speak or not. The twins were extraordinary, but they were still making mistakes. And the baron did not handle mistakes well.

The wheels of his mind were churning as he examined them, watching as they had gone beyond their duty and acquitted themselves in the simulated tests. It was nothing new, really, if he were to be cynical about it. These subjects, these survivors, had reached higher heights than he had ever anticipated, particularly after being exposed to the power of the scepter stolen from the Asgardian years ago…and living. Thriving, actually; the two seemed to thrive on discourse and chaos, and here he was, able to reap the rewards of such a bounty. They were proving to be more powerful as the days went on. However, they were not ready yet; any man of rank in an army knew when his recruits were ready for battle, and these two weren't there. Not yet. A few more experiments with the scepter, a few more touches to the plan, and then…

"Sir?" The timidity in the doctor's voice was barely masked, and the baron had to bite his tongue to quell his amusement at the other fellow's obvious fear. Rather he gave a short nod to the glass, pivoting on his heel and marching towards the exit.

"Very good. They are very good," he murmured, noting the wave of relief spreading from person to person at his pronouncement. Turning to one of his subordinates, he retrieved a slip of paper from his pocket and handed to him. "Inform Doctor List of their progress, and send him these coordinates. We move out tonight."

"But, sir—" one of the others attempted to interject. A wave of the baron's hand pulled him up short, and the rest waited with bated breath.

"The net is closing in. If we wish to continue our work, all of it, we must move out…before the Avengers get too close."

Their current location, a training facility deep in the forests of Germany, had fallen into disarray and disrepair after being abandoned for years. It could not be easily shored up and fortified…but the baron knew of a place that could be.

Once they moved there, HYDRA could make its stand again. The world had changed and changed again, and it was due for another turnover. It would be their time once again.

* * *

 **A/N 2:** _Obtiaž_ is Slovak for "nuisance"; I figured Pietro might be inclined to use it. ;) I used an online translator; forgive me if I screwed something up.

Questions? Comments? Let me know!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	2. Chapter 2

The night's darkness folded around the Tower, the solitary "A" on the side a bright beacon in the city. The building itself was sparsely lit, the laboratory within the top floors illuminated just enough to be noticeable. All was quiet, all was calm...save for the scrape of a stool rolling from bench to bench, echoing in the space. The beeps and clicks of the digital readouts were unremarkable, at least to the man concentrating on his task. Bending over a mounted magnifying glasses, Tony Stark fiddled with the gauntlet beneath it, tools poised and delicately maneuvering the armored plates. While the Iron Legion had its own automatic repair and assembly interface, he still looked out for his own suits (with JARVIS' assistance, the only other being he could trust to do the job right). Wires had been frayed during the most recent bust-up between the team and some radical insurgents, the armor knocked around enough to cut into them. It was a miracle he hadn't been electrocuted in the confrontation, particularly if they had broken through the under layer and tapped his skin. Oh, well. The armor was due for diagnostics, anyway; this just gave him the excuse.

Blowing out a breath, Tony laid down his tools for a moment, sat back. He'd been laboring over his suit for hours, the task of installing his much-worked-over sentry mode consuming him until it had been completed. Coffee and espresso cups littered the work surfaces, despite Bruce's mild reprimands to clean up after himself. Even with taking in enough caffeine to make an elephant jittery, he felt the burn of exhaustion in his eyes, his body. Still, the shadow looming at the back of his mind was there, waiting for him to fall into slumber and spring its attack. If he slept tonight, the nightmares would come. He knew that. Unconsciously, he rubbed the center of his chest, the ridges of stitched skin and muscle having planed down to be slightly smoother. It was a habit he picked up after his surgery, when the nights stretched on and he felt the gnaw of fear (improbable and ridiculous as it was) that it had been for naught. That one single metal barb had been missed, that for all his efforts he would still end up dead due to his mistakes and follies. The touch anchored him, reminding him that he was still alive, could feel the change and could heal from it.

Shaking his head, Tony scrubbed at his face before scooting in close to the table and picking back up his tools.

"JARVIS, gimme some more light," he commanded. Squinting at the wires, he muttered, "Worked in a cave once, not doing that again."

Slowly, the light over the work station increased, sharpening the fray of the equipment in hand.

"Yes, sir," JARVIS acquiesced, the tone in his smooth voice becoming a touch wry. "That's certainly an experience that need not be repeated."

Tony dipped his chin, repairing the gauntlet with delicate, steady gestures. Setting everything down once more, he flicked his wrist, the sensors implanted beneath the skin summoning the gauntlet and making it assemble swiftly. Flexing the armored fingers, he looked it over, judging the work to be good. It would require testing in the morning. There was more to be done in the meantime.

"Show me a full suit readout, J. I think something was giving way in the right booster during flight mode."

JARVIS complied, a scanner going over the assembled suit in the corner. "Yes, sir."

A knock against the open glass door at the far end of the room drew his attention, made Tony pause in his endeavor. His body tensed as he pivoted on his seat; everyone had gone to sleep, hadn't they? Tired blue eyes beneath ruffled blond hair met his, the taller form looming in the door frame hesitantly. Relaxing, Tony gave the new arrival a clipped nod; it was only Steve.

"Up late again, I see," the captain remarked obviously, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets and stepping over the threshold. It was common now, finding one member or another of the team awake during the late hours. Every one of them had their reasons to stay awake, keep the monsters at bay from their minds in the blackness. Sometimes a little companionship helped do so.

"Well...couldn't sleep," Tony pointed out, combing his fingers through his dark hair before rising from the stool. Heading over to the coffee maker, he poured himself the last of the brew, belatedly glancing at Steve and gesturing at it. Steve shook his head at the silent offer, instead turning his attention to the schematic on the digital screen. Shrugging, Tony swallowed some of it, wincing at the burn and the taste. Too long on the burner, again, but it would have to do.

"Me, either," Steve murmured, exhaling sharply. It was nothing new; lack of sleep had blotted his existence since well before he woke up from the ice. However, he couldn't blame it on ill health, a raging battle, or his fluffy mattress tonight. The set of his jaw was hard, something that Tony was able to recognize; he'd seen it in the mirror too often for his liking over the last few years. Stark sauntered up to him, pushing up the sleeves of his layered tee and sighing.

"Figured I might as well get some work done. Sometimes it helps," Tony confessed, taking a sip of coffee and blotting his finger along one of the displays, pulling the technical scan of the right leg forward. To be honest, it didn't help much, other than by pulling his mind away from whatever was disturbing it, but he could appreciate it for what it was worth. He was not rebuilding his cocoon; he was reinforcing his life to make sure that didn't happen again. Turning over the thought in his mind, he settled on the one thing that actually grounded him, helped him put away the nightmares. "When Pepper's not around, at least."

Steve's eyes softened a little, his shoulders drooping a little. "I understand."

Tony risked a glance sideways, guessing that their trains of thought were not so dissimilar in that moment. "It's easier when someone's there."

It was a truth that he could not deny: Tony Stark may very well have lost his mind if not for Pepper Potts' presence in his life. No matter the arguments, the violence, the terror, she was there for him when he returned from that black crevice he crawled out of, when he crossed dimensions he was never meant to cross. Contrary to her claims, he knew of no one better to handle the stress of a life with him. And Tony knew exactly how rare and how special it was to find someone who would endure the bad times as well as the good. Holding her close, feeling her there and understanding how precious those fleeting seconds were, made it worth the pain and the sorrow that preceded their time together.

And it threw the moments apart into sharp relief, the contrast great enough to drive him into work. When he looked up at Steve again, he could see the reflection of his thoughts in his face. Sympathy, and empathy, warred on the surface. The captain understood exactly what he wasn't saying. After all, he too felt the sting of nightmares, took relief and reliance in a person who was there in the blackness of the night when the past would no longer let itself be ignored.

"Yeah," Steve commiserated, crossing his arms over his chest. Holly had to return home shortly after St. Valentine's Day, the ache returning to his heart as she pulled away several days ago. It was getting harder and harder each time to let her go, harder to face the nights alone with only her voice over the phone as his comfort. Still, he could endure it, for both their sakes. He was not the only one separated from someone; Pepper and Tony were on opposite sides of the country for the better part of weeks, and Thor was lucky to have Jane every other month or so.

Clearing his throat, Tony took another sip of coffee before speaking again, the long moment of silence between them weighing down on him.

"Did you come up here looking for a snuggle buddy, Cap?" he wondered, setting his cup aside and sidestepping the taller man. Turning his mouth down in a mock frown, he continued, "Because I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that; it borders potentially on harassment."

The captain rolled his eyes, a tiny grin tugging on his lips. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Stark, but you're not exactly my first choice for that."

Tony scoffed, "Trust me, we'd both be making due, pal. You lack certain significant parts to be appealing to me."

He could have gone on, listing exactly what parts the captain was missing just for the sake of seeing him turn a variety of different shades of red, but he refrained. That game ran its course when he found out that Steve had (very recently, granted) become very familiar with the female form, and as such, couldn't be teased about his naivete anymore. Instead, it was enough just to make Steve shift away slightly, shake his head and give him a derisive snort.

"Same with you to me."

"Good. Glad we got that squared away. Now, since you're here, you want to make yourself useful and grab me a spanner. If I don't get this booster fixed, you'll be scraping Iron Man roadkill off the side of a HYDRA tank after the next attack."

Steve grimaced, but did as he was asked. "What a pleasant picture that paints."

Taking the spanner, Tony smirked and knelt down, lifting off the plating on the armor. "Worthy of a Hallmark card, surely. 'With deepest regrets...'"

"'My condolences for your loss due to shoddy maintenance of the Mark Whatever suit. Oh, Tony, we hardly knew ye,'" Steve replied, a bitter smile overlaying the very deep reality. A loss of even one of the members of the team, no matter who it was, would be great. Tony returned the expression with one of his own, sadness creeping at the edges of it.

Pointing the tool back at his leader, he drove hard at the levity. "You're not giving the eulogy at my funeral."

Thus, with the sorrow turned over, he went about his task, the captain looking on and taking the hint. Through the remainder of the repairs, the two men traded barbs and wits, staving off the demons both men carried. For a time, at least.

 **xXxXxXx**

At dawn, there was no sign of anyone on the upper decks, something that Bruce preferred. He had left Tony to his work the evening before, giving himself the time to settle back into himself. Every time he had to come down from the lullaby, the recovery period grew shorter and shorter, but he still had to adjust to the change mentally. Reverting to and from the Hulk was exhausting, hard enough to deal with in the presence of others. He had to shut down, shut off, from what was going on around him, from what his actions had wrought. Along with flights back spent with headphones clamped over his ears, all other sound and stimuli save for the operatic arias he indulged in blocked out, of course. It would break the remaining vestiges of the Hulk, drive it to the back of consciousness. But to make peace with what he'd done, he had to be lucid, tapped into the world around him. Confronting his anger kept him on an even keel, and he needed to do that to be able to begin again every day.

Laying down his mat on the high walkway, he faced the eastern windows, breathing deeply and evenly before sitting down. The bite of the February air was blocked, but he inhaled as though he could feel the biting cold inside as well. Carefully he closed his eyes, folding his hands in his lap as he continued his breathing exercises. The gravitation towards morning meditation was gradual, but he found it to be the most effective way to process and handle his previous actions, allowed him to face the world with a sense of equilibrium. He might have acted rightly, or wrongly, but only through this could he act at all in the future.

 _In and out, in and out..._

"Hey." The nearly whispered word startled him; evidently he wasn't as alone as he had perceived himself to be. Opening his eyes, he perched his glasses on his nose and looked up, nerves firing as Natasha stepped into view. She carried two mugs of tea, the steam rising and dissipating. Swathed in a loose shirt and pants, it was a departure from her normally tight-fitting uniforms. It softened her, made her looks years younger, especially with her hair left sleep-tousled. It was extremely rare to see her in such a state; she always took so much care in looking presentable. It made her appear untouchable, as though the worst of the world couldn't affect her. Of course, that was by design. Here, in the privacy of the Tower, amongst her friends, she could show herself to be the fallible human being that she still was.

To his eyes, though, she was beautiful either way. The notion rose up before he had time to quash it, and so he masked it by combing back his unruly curls, fumbling to straighten the pullover he was wearing.

After a pause that was a little too long for his comfort, Bruce cleared his throat. "Oh, hi."

Her studious smirk graced her lips, but she said nothing to that. Rather she handed him one of the mugs, nodding to his mat.

"Mind if I join you?"

It was an innocent request, one of a few that had been cropping up here and there lately. Something in their relationship paradigm had shifted, but to what he couldn't say. He did not have all the relevant data. What he did know what these instances were not unwelcome. As a general rule, women often operated at the fringes of his mind, people he just lived alongside and worked with. A few exceptions broke that rule; Betty's face swam up from his memory, her name a faint echo from the past. Ever since he'd returned to the states, he'd not heard nor seen her, and so he assumed that she had no wish to be contacted by him again. Too dangerous. But Natasha worked with him everyday, knew what he was capable of, and still she offered her time. Asking to expound on one of his papers (something she readily admitted to not having a clue about, but studied as a way to understand what his pre-Avengers work was about), or taking him along with Maria to the Rockefeller rink over Christmas, it seemed to him that she wanted to get to know him better now.

With his free hand, he gestured to his side. "Be my guest. Though, I'll warn you: I'm not going to be very entertaining company."

She snickered, lowering herself to the floor and arranging her legs artfully as she sat. "If I was looking for entertainment, I'd wake Barton after removing all caffeine from the vicinity."

Bruce grinned; much as they all enjoyed coffee, Barton was the real slave to the bean in the group. Taking a sip of the tea (English breakfast, his mind filled in the name when he tasted it), he inclined his head once more.

"Okay, then."

Together, they passed the time, watching as the sun broke free of the horizon, bright rays piercing clouds, reflecting off the windows of the other buildings beside and below them. By degrees, it was coming alive, the city that never slept shaking itself out of its stupor to do so. For the moment, it was just them, their tea, and the sunrise. No more, no less. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce watched Natasha, with her following his lead. She was not noisy, nor obtrusive. She was the epitome of poise, her calmness enfolding over him. That was her talent, to remain solid in the face of real danger. In the faces of monsters. It was one of the reasons why she was the most effective at administering the chemical agent of the lullaby to him; she did not show fear, not of him, at least.

Just...one of the reasons. Looking at the woman, near enough to feel the warmth coming off her body, stirred his mind, drove him out of his head. Bruce looked down into his mug, taking another deep breath. The other guy was slumbering now, at rest, but the man who remained could hardly be called that.

However, the silence could not extend forever. Eventually, she nudged him with her elbow, tilting her head to the right as she nodded to the windowed wall.

"Very peaceful, the city at sunrise," she observed. Natasha relaxed her posture, rested her hand on the floor and shifted her weight to rest against it. Bruce copied her, motioning with his occupied hand outward.

"I enjoy the quiet, the solitude," he confessed.

Nat gave him a saucy grin, raising her eyebrow at his words. "And yet you continue to choose to live in densely populated areas."

Bruce chuckled softly, his wry grin disappearing after a few seconds.

"People as a whole aren't a problem. It's...singular persons that are an issue."

Natasha's mouth closed, her gaze flicking back to the glass as she pondered that. As she had since the first time they'd come in contact, she sensed the struggle boiling beneath the surface, knew how it was abated in tiny moments like this. The struggle to maintain composure, to keep the truth of the soul locked down where no one could find it. The rage, the terror...for a few moments, with a cup of tea and a sunrise, it could be forgotten, put away. She did not know the extent of the pain Bruce suffered, but she did understand it. In a crowd, one could disappear, be protected; one on one, you opened yourself up to the worst sides of the other person.

Still, sometimes you were able to see the best sides of someone instead.

"I get it," she murmured, putting her cup down and patting his shoulder lightly, the butterfly caress of her fingers sliding away all too soon for his liking (though he would not admit that aloud). Sighing, Natasha tugged on one of her curls, shrugging a shoulder at him. "And you're alright with this singular person invading on your meditation time?"

Looking up at the ceiling briefly, he turned the notion over in his mind before answering. "You're interesting to talk to, at least."

She laughed then, her velvet voice smooth even in that. "I do have quite a few stories, let me tell you."

Retrieving his mug, suitably calmed by her presence, the good doctor scratched at his scruff before gesturing at her.

"Well, Barton did mention something about one time in Budapest...perhaps you'd be willing to go over that?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, but her voice trembled with the guffaws she was holding back. "It's not the nicest story."

A gentle smile creased Bruce's lips, brightened his dark eyes. "If you're going to be a part of this, you might as well contribute."

"I brought you tea."

"More brownie points for you, Agent Romanoff."

For several long seconds, she stared him down, trying to intimidate him off the topic. Unflinching, the doctor met her gaze, sipping the last dregs of his tea and waiting for her next move. Huffing under her breath, she rested her chin her hand. Perhaps it would be good to let at least one other person know about the events of the Budapest mission. Maybe then she'd have support once her side of the story was told; Barton wouldn't be able to lord it over her, then.

It would give him the chance to get to know her, too.

 **xXxXxXx**

Downstairs, in the community workout room, Clint was taking the opportunity to show Thor the finer points of human fitness techniques, stopping at each machine to indicate their uses. The god looked on, mild curiosity in his face and plunging Pop Tart after Pop Tart into his mouth as they went. Previously he had wondered at the room and its marvels, expressing his incredulity at Midgardians improving their forms outside of battle. Clint, having overheard this exclamation, offered to better define things during one of his early morning sessions.

At the treadmill, though, Barton paused. Faltering in his speech, he shifted his shoulders, as if a chill ran over him. Thor's brow furrowed, and he swallowed his last mouthful quickly.

"Friend Barton, what is the matter?"

The archer shook his head, the skitter down his back disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"I just got the feeling that I just missed something."

Thor watched him vacillate between explaining the machine for treading and the ripple in his thoughts. This did not appear to be some sort of vision, or any phenomena of the sort. However, given who he was, he was unlikely to discount the thread of feeling. So many such things had guided him to and through past endeavors. Shortly, though, his companion reached his decision.

"Never mind. It's gone," he muttered, brushing off the shiver with nary a glance back. Mutely, Thor proffered the box of confections he was holding to his friend, waiting until he took one of the pastries and started munching for himself. Thor nodded towards another machine in the room at the far end, giving Clint the chance to move away from the mild disturbance.

"Now, tell me of this flexing bow I have heard so much of. I would suppose you are an expert on such a device, Barton."

Shaking his head, Clint led the way, chewing his Pop Tart carefully and contemplating the nagging feeling that was slipping away with each step he took. Oh, well. Must not have been important.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey, I'm back! I know I'm a little late with my weekly update, but hey, holidays, what can you do? :) I'm working on getting back to my usual end-f-the-week posting schedule as well. Also...that _Captain America: Civil War_ trailer, am I right? So may mixed emotions while watching it, I can tell you that much...

No Holly this time, save by mention, but she will be returning shortly. Since I have shifted into the actual Avengers category, I'm going to try my best to represent the entire team as best I can as well the OC, but...still, this is an ongoing Steve/OC romance, so the focus will inevitably shift back to them. That being said, goodness gracious, this chapter was a hard one! I have a lot of ideas of where I want to go with this story, but I need to work on getting there, so...this happened. If my attempt at humor at the end sucked, I'm sorry. Just trying...  
Also, for those of you who either don't recall or haven't read the first story: my perception of Bruce's "lullaby" is actually a chemical compound that is spread on his skin and penetrates his systems, forcing him into a cooldown. Because to me, a simple touch didn't seem to be enough, even if it is performed by the lovely Natasha (all explained in _At Day's End_ ; I was being serious when I told you guys you need to read that first. Avengers stuff happened there, too). I'm also trying to give their sudden feelings in the film more of a grounding than was presented onscreen.

I own nothing of the MCU, the Bowflex, Pop-Tarts, or English breakfast tea.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	3. Chapter 3

_The helmet tumbled to the ground, dropped and forgotten. His uniform, she looked at it carefully, was intricate, but she glanced at the connecting points, knowing full well that she could get it off. His bright blue gaze scorched her, eyes traveling up and down over her body mere seconds before his hands do. The shield was abandoned, joining the helmet. The touch sends shivers throughout her, the fervency fueling her as well as him. She leaned up, tasting his lips, his mouth, deepening it with every turn. Fingers slid through his hair, down to the fasteners at his neck. She felt herself being nudged back, her name tumbling out as he traced a trail along her jaw, down her throat. Pieces of uniform and clothing vanished, as if into thin air, his chest pressing against hers, the fire of his skin transferring to her and back again. Lashes fluttering, she sighed, arching up..._

A blaring sound cut through, startling Holly. Jerking slightly, she lifted her head from the pillow, hooded eyes glaring at the red digital numbers. Growling under her breath, she turned away, her brow screwing up in contempt.

"Oh, come _on_ ," she huffed, the vestiges of her dream melting away as she smacked the alarm off. The tingling in her body was beginning to subside, and she wished she could sink back into sleep to reclaim it. Rolling onto her side, she clenched her legs together, pressing her face into her pillow and groaning into it exasperatedly. It was too late for falling back asleep, now; the sheets were knotted around her, and she struggled against them briefly as she forced herself to sit up. One thing she could be glad of was that Steve would be coming back to D.C. in a few days. Their plan of alternating between New York and Washington worked in her favor this week. At least in her apartment, they would have privacy. Perhaps they would not have a whole floor to themselves, but that did not guarantee none of the team members would turn up while they were engaged in an amorous pursuit. She flushed a little at that, recalling an incident at the end of January, the sudden swish of the outer door of the quarters and Dr. Banner's completely mortified expression as he stopped asking his questions, instead rooting in place in embarrassment. For the most part, they had been clothed, but still she had bolted out of Steve's lap, vaulting over the sofa in an attempt to shield herself and find the shirts that had been flung away. Holly had trouble looking the doctor in the eye for the remainder of her time at the Tower.

On the positive side, at least the door knocking policy had a reason to be reinstated, despite Tony's protests that JARVIS was enough of a deterrent. Most of the group had conceded to the new stipulation on the off-chance that they could accidentally walk in on Stark and Pepper _in flagrante_ one of those days, given the override abilities most of them had on the privacy settings. Still, the high spots of red on both Steve's and her cheeks spoke for themselves when the vote was taken.

Lazily wrapping her comforter around her, Holly wandered out to the bathroom, dropping her fluffy cover as she stepped into the small room and turned on the shower. Though pleasant, she didn't miss Steve purely for the physical part of their relationship. That was rather new, in comparison to the companionship offered, to the deep love and comfort they shared with one another. The dry humor, that little half grin, the stuff she didn't think she'd ever tire of. Even with it pitted against his stubbornness, his sharp attitude, the sometimes brutal aspects of his honesty.

Shedding her pajamas and stepping under the cold spray, she waited until the final cobwebs of her driven dreams were cleared before turning up the heat. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, reveling in it. The heat of the water was a poor substitute of the warmth she wanted, but again, she would make due in the meantime. Going through her morning routine, she considered her schedule. Work, certainly, with a stop at the batting cages to keep her form up afterward (her baseball bat was still a constant companion, her weapon of choice when it came to defending herself; it worked before, why not again?), and perhaps she would prepare another copy of her manuscript's first chapter to mail to another publisher. Thus far, she had not heard back from the ones she shipped copies to in January, though it was to be expected. Still, she had hopes that maybe this would be the day she would get a call, an email, a promise that one of the literary agents liked her work, wanted to publish it. Maybe, maybe.

Until that time came, she'd be in her back office, filling in orders and deciding shifts for the part-timers.

Once dressed and gnawing on a granola bar as she went to her car, Holly fiddled with her phone, arming the security alarms on her apartment and receiving a status update from JARVIS about the conditions both in and out of her building (one visit and Tony had the entire property bugged with his tech; her landlord did not appreciate the effort, but he had let it slide purely for the benefits it provided for his building). Though the program had, via commands from Stark and the captain, been able to mask any of her personal and public records from the general public, there were ways for people to figure out who she was and where she lived without resorting to an online address search. One time, she'd parked in her lot and found a couple people set up in camp chairs, her boyfriend's shield insignia decorating them and tipping her off. On those days, she would either spend a few hours at either Sam's house, or her friend Sarah's apartment, when she could use the cover of darkness to sneak into her building, or sleep over until morning. This day, however, the property was clear, and she could make her way to her car with ease.

A spidery tingle crawled along her spine, the intangible brush catching her attention and causing her to pause in her journey. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the other assorted vehicles, the trash dumpsters and the tree break along the south end of the lot. The sense of eyes on her, though, did not vanish. Carefully, she climbed into the driver's seat, flicking the locks as she took out her phone again.

"JARVIS?" she asked, tapping the screen and cutting her gaze out the window again. Sticking her key in the ignition, she fired up her car and waited as it warmed up, still seeing nothing.

"Yes, ma'am?" the UI responded (Tony's sharp correction on the program's state still ringing in her head several days on), not perturbed in the least to be contacted again. For a moment, she second-guessed herself. Was it worth it to even ask? She could just be acting paranoid. Shaking her head, she drew in a quick breath before going ahead.

"Can you scan the building again? Just to be safe?"

Her phone made a couple of clicks and beeps, a short few seconds of work.

"Secondary scan shows no signs of intruders or other unknown entities in the vicinity. Unless the dubious ice cream vendor makes an appearance in the next ten seconds, it should remain so until you leave the property."

Chewing that over in her mind, Holly muttered under her breath. "Huh."

"Are you well, Miss Martin? Your vitals appeared level when you exited the apartment, but the pressure with which you're holding your cellular device indicates a spike of tenseness."

Automatically, she loosened her grip, taking the comment as a reproof, though she knew that it was just a statement of fact. She blew out another breath, placing the phone in the cup holder and buckling her seat belt.

"No, I'm okay," she explained, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the spot. "Just a little jittery this morning...maybe too much coffee lately."

"Perhaps you should make the switch to decaf, ma'am?" JARVIS suggested, a note of concern in the words. For not being a real person, JARVIS showed an amazing amount of caring and sympathy towards humans. She appreciated that, even when her nerves were a little tight.

"Probably should. I'll think about it," Holly murmured, pulling out of the lot and onto the road. Maybe it was too much caffeine; it wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened to her. As she drove on, the crawl up her back had subsided, and she began to relax. Chalking up her earlier feelings to the suspected paranoia, she went into work with her head held up high and her spine straight.

Once again, she was in her office the majority of the day, typing up reports and putting in book orders, Carl popping in and out as the hours ticked by to go over the scheduled events for March since it was fast approaching. Two local authors would have signings and discussions, three kid events, and a St. Patrick's Day themed week were on the docket, as well as getting in someone to replace Alex (the kid finally got fed up with his minimum wage post and decided to strike out for Youtube gamer fame, as far as Holly could tell from the notice she was handed a few days prior). On and off she was pulled out to answer some questions and to help the other part-timer at the till as needed. Keeping busy distracted her, kept her mind far away from the morning's unsettled moments. Given time, it could be forgotten.

Choosing to take dinner out with Sarah that evening, the two young women went at an Italian place off of Connecticut Avenue (the petite blonde doing the driving; she wanted to show off her new car). Food and drinks buffeted the conversation, the occasional quick glances of the other patrons ignored. Sarah was training yet another set of girls for competition dancing along with wrangling adults in her ballroom workshop for the next seven weeks. She suggested, once again, for Holly to bring Steve along for a class or two. He'd shown some promise in the private lessons she gave him before New Year's, and given his athletic prowess he could be just as adept at dancing as he was at kicking ass.

"Well, if the whole fighting bad guys thing stops working out, at least he'll have a fall-back plan. You know, something other than that whole art school training he went through," Holly remarked sarcastically, taking a bite of fettuccini alfredo. Gesturing with her fork, she went on. "Concentrate on teaching Aaron."

Smiling, the young blonde clucked her tongue at the mention of her partner. "I've tried, but the big guy has two left feet. His little sister got all the good genes in that regard. Anyway, it was just a suggestion. I know it's lucky that you get to see him between...jobs, as it is."

Holly hummed in agreement, raising her eyebrows minutely at the chosen reference to the Avengers' missions. Sarah shrugged; how else could she describe what they did discreetly in a public place? Conceding the point silently, Holly instead changed the subject to the bookstore, speculating about the first author scheduled to come in for their signing. She hoped the guy's ego was as inflated as the last one; she could understand if the fellow had been Stephen King or something. But the guy was a complete asshat touting pseudo-scientific bullshit in the second of his self-help book series. Sarah tutted at that, and so the conversation progressed to families, the rest of the week's plans, the discussion of what Holly would be able to do once she was able to sell her book to someone. Their respective Valentine's Day events were shared, both of them agreeing their men had done well, as well as themselves. Despite one or two hiccups.

"He locked you out of the room?" Sarah crowed as they left the restaurant, coats on and huddling close to one another. As they moved, the duo focused solely on themselves, awareness of the shadows and darkness just beyond the streetlights banished.

"Just long enough to cover the bed in rose petals and get the wine out of its hiding spot." Holly bit her lip, trying to hide the smile. He certainly did give her a surprise, that was for sure. "Knew him wanting to get dressed alone in the room was fishy. Good thing I'd already changed by that point. He's crafty."

"He's trained on a military and super spy level to be so. No wonder he got away with it," Sarah posited, not a little snarky. Holly snickered at herself.

"That distinctly honest streak he has is a great cover, seriously." Shrugging again, she tilted her head, shifting her hair out of her face. Out of nowhere, the cold fingertip that traced her spine that morning came back, digging in a little harder. It was stronger, closer, but she had no idea what was going on. Pausing in her steps, Holly's head whipped around, her dark eyes scanning the street. Just the normal passersby gliding to and fro around them, but...something was off. Sarah's brow screwed up in confusion, a little alarmed by the drastic shift in her friend's expression.

"What's up?"

A couple more steps, and the pair were in front of a narrow alley. It was positioned too far to be within the range of the streetlamps, but Holly got a weird feeling about it. Motioning for Sarah to stay back, she stared down it, as if looking into the soul of some fell beast hiding in the shadows.

Fight or flight. Everyone had that instinct when danger reared its ugly head. Holly never knew whether to rightly classify what she had as either fight or flight. It was more like "wait and see" when it came to her impulses. If her choices were at all consulted, she reckoned she would prefer to be a flight person. Might allow her to live longer. She was too driven to discover what or who was going on; her actions during the helicarrier disaster was a good example of that, when she had done nothing but hunker down and watch the explosions from behind a tree on the riverbank. Based on experience, if she ran at the first sign of trouble, she wouldn't have any idea of what exactly she was running from. She wanted to know. It likely would get her killed one day, probably even that very day. Swallowing hard, she could not will her feet to turn her around and book it to her car.

Taking her phone out of one pocket, palming her taser in her other hand, she unlocked the flashlight function and pointed it down the alley. Tempering her breathing, she took one step in, the light grazing over debris and discarded trash, the dumpster at the end pressed into a corner and out of the way to allow access to the other alley that connected to it. In the darkness, the shadows moved, but she could not see that. Bracing herself, she took another step, a shaky breath escaping her lips. The scuffle beyond her phone's light came again, as if to come towards her. Gasping, she jerked back when the sounds turned into something rebounding off the brick, a struggle that suddenly distanced itself from her. A single grunt was heard, and when she swept her camera light around, the direct glare of raised metal shined into her eyes, forcing her to recoil and close them for a moment. Snapping them open as quickly as possible, she squinted against the tiny spots dancing in her vision, unable to hear anymore from the alley. Padding into it, she hoped against hope that all she'd heard was a hobo shying away and trying to not to be caught. Or a couple of stray cats...that knocked around a metal pole. The drainage pipe on the far wall was bent out, but she was fairly certain that was not the metal she'd seen before. Pointing her phone at the ground, Holly couldn't see any drag marks or footprints due to the pavement. Nobody was there, the single fire escape ladder on the next building swaying when she rounded the corner. It shook as if someone had just gotten finished with climbing it; the wind wasn't strong enough to push it around. Whoever had done it was in a hurry. They didn't want to bother with her. Exhaling, Holly shook her head, leaning against the wall, pressing her knuckles against the tags around her neck.

"Holl! What's going on?" Sarah's voice was distant, but it recalled her back to the present, out of her rushing thoughts. Something was down that alley, had seen her. Her gut told her that it wasn't anything good, but the hackles on the back of her neck were settling, each breath she took a reassurance. What she had done was stupid, but she could walk away, do something with it. Whatever it was, it was gone, taken care of. Shining the beam of light around her one more time, she walked backwards out of the alley, shaking her head once she came out on the sidewalk, awash in the glow of the street lamps.

"Nothing," she told her friend, ignoring the skeptical glare in Sarah's eyes. Determinedly, Holly strode away from the space, tucking her taser back in her coat pocket and linking arms with her best friend. "Let's go. Now."

"Whatever you say. Did you see anything?"

"No," Holly confessed, lowering her voice as they passed a couple of other people, "and that's what worries me."

Swiftly she set the pace down the sidewalk, breaking away from Sarah as they approached her car. Quickly, she climbed into the vehicle, buckling as her friend threw the car into drive and took them away. Once she got home, she had some phone calls to make, some research to do. Just a short drive away.

 **xXxXxXx**

"Steve...yeah, I'm, I'm fine...figures you'd catch on quick. Yeah, no, nothing's happened. Babe, I promise. Seriously, you're going to argue over semantics? Okay, I swear, then. Happy? Good. But, listen, I do think it's time to, um, to take up one of those options we talked about. The ones we went over back in September. After...yeah...I swear to God, if the next words out of your mouth are 'I told you so'...Oh, I'm feeling the love, sweetheart."

 **xXxXxXx**

Holly leaned into her couch, staring at the point above her television for a long time, as if examining the paint on the wall for deficiencies. In truth, she was thinking, her brain working furiously over everything. Choices were made, and she had to go through with another one. Sitting up again, inhaling quietly as she went into her apps again, waiting for the next connection to be made.

In New York, up in the beacon-like Avengers Tower, the wall display in one of the higher apartments chimed. Bustling from the other room, the man made one last scrub at his cropped hair with a towel before tossing it onto a nearby armchair. Swiping the display with a finger, he was surprised at the woman on the screen, her dark eyes wary and her opening smile hesitant.

"Hello?" he greeted, the end of the sentence turning up despite his efforts. The camera on her end shifted as she waved a little at him.

"Hi, Clint," Holly said. It was odd, talking to him. They had gotten along fine, for the most part, whenever she chanced to run into him at the Tower, but she definitely wouldn't say she and Barton were close. Hawkeye liked to observe things, people, from a distance, but that aspect of his character didn't conceal his natural ability to connect with others. Something about him made her feel comfortable when she spoke with him, even in passing. Calling him felt like a good thing to do, like calling her brother when she was in trouble back in the day.

"Hey there. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call? Or live video chat, I suppose," Clint amended, pulling up another chair and perching in it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he paused, wanting to hear the story behind this. Observing the quirk of her eyebrows, the way her gaze cut away and back to him, he could feel the nervousness rolling off her, even through the open channel.

"I was...okay, I really am not in any position to ask you for a favor, but I..." she broke off, collecting her thoughts once more before continuing. "I need some help. And I thought..."

Clint sat up straighter then, lines creasing his forehead. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. At least, nothing yet," she sighed, the hand holding the device on her end drooping for a moment (cell phone, due to the angle and the way the screen wavered slightly ever couple of seconds). Casting a look at the phone, one that Clint recognized all too well from personal experience, she pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. "I've just had a _lengthy_ conversation with Steve about...things, and I've decided it's time to get some actual self-defense training. It's something I've been dragging my feet on for awhile, but I can't anymore."

Clint nodded, taking time to ask, "What changed?"

Here Holly's hand moved away from her face, off the screen. The emotion her eyes, the one that she had been quelling as they spoke, surfaced quickly. Fear. Catching it, he did not remark upon it. Fear was common, but what was she afraid of? Tucking her hair behind her ear, Holly shrugged, her voice inadequate for a moment.

"I feel in my gut that there could be someone watching me. This isn't the first time." And given her experience the last time she had a gut feeling like it, she ended up with a new security system after clipping a recovering brainwashed assassin with a bat. It would be better not to ignore it. "I know better now. I need to do this now, before it gets worse."

Yep, he figured this would be her angle, he just wanted to hear it confirmed. "And you want my help."

"I'm enrolling in a course in town," she hastened to explain, "but...if I'm being targeted, it won't be by anyone...average. I would like additional help from someone who has experience with the not normal crowd. Maybe a touch of actual training. I know it's a lot to ask for, given that we hardly know each other and you're just as busy as everyone else on the team, but..."

"You do understand what you're doing, right? You're asking for an ex-operative's help? It won't be easy, in any regard. I won't hold your hand for you," Clint drove the point home. It was true, he had his own set of responsibilities, his own separate motivations. His own scores, and guilt, and doubts to labor over. To assist with another's, he couldn't be the one to haul the load. Looking her dead in the eye, he stared hard, hard enough so that she could only blink and look away from its intensity.

"I don't expect you to," she said in a near whisper, meeting his gaze fully once more. Dipping his chin once, he leaned back in his seat, pondering what she was asking for a moment, juggling another question and inquiring further.

"Why me? Not that I'm not flattered, but I figured Natasha would be your go-to, or maybe Maria, if you were seeking assistance outside of your significant other's."

She paused, bit her lip. All the thoughts in her head circled one another, too many answers to give. Maria was too distant, cold, to ask for assistance, and Natasha, well, frankly Natasha still intimidated her, no matter that she'd known her for longer than she knew Barton. And Steve...she did not want to go over that part of the conversation again. Beyond that, she couldn't give a distinct reason for her choice. "You seem to be the right person to ask. I think you'd...you'd keep me accountable."

Clint blinked. "And the captain wouldn't."

Holly shook her head, partial denial and partial truth. "Oh, he'd make sure I'd do it. It's just that, well, I hadn't taken his advice the first time few times we've talked about this option."

Here Barton cracked a small grin, the glimmer in his eyes growing. "Ah, got hit with the 'I told you so' speech?"

She groaned; at that moment, she regretted bringing someone trained to read people like she read books into it. "Somewhat. But that's not enough of a deterrent to not accept his help. He's...he's too close. Do you understand that at all?"

Had it been ten months ago when she wanted this, when they were simply friends, she would have asked for Steve's help. However, too much of everything had passed between them for it to be a viable option. Steve was her partner, not her leader, and while she trusted him to be honest with her, she did know that he would end up holding back, at least a little. Her fragility or lack of it was not a question; he knew she was capable of taking care of herself. But facing off against one another, even in a training scenario, would not be ideal. In her mind, Holly thought this would be the best course of action. Steve could be involved in other ways; he could observe, she would let him pitch in his two cents when he wanted, but more than that...she wasn't sure. It wasn't a judgment on his trust or faithfulness, that much she could tell him, which went a small way to placate Steve into agreeing with her choice.

Releasing a deep breath, the silence that stretched on was broken as Clint inclined his head.

"Okay. Next time you're at the Tower, tell me about your class and what they've covered by then, I'll help you fill in the blanks with what I know." He tilted his head to the side, considering. "I can teach you some things they definitely won't show you."

Holly snickered, grateful for his acceptance. "Thank you. I'll figure out a way to pay you by then."

Barton shook his head, waving it off. All things considered, he was doing very well by his previous standards. He didn't want her money. That wasn't the point of what he was doing.

"This is in all our best interests," he told her, giving her a smarmy smirk. "Cap will be miserable to work with if the worst should happen and you're not prepared."

Snorting softly, she barely managed to conceal her eyeroll. "How kindhearted of you."

"In the meantime, go to your class and make me proud, grasshopper."

Her jaw quirked, her own eyes shining a little. "But are you Pat Morita, or Jackie Chan?"

Barton mock gasped, shaking his finger at the display. "Shame on your family for mentioning such blasphemy, grasshopper! Morita is the only Miyagi!"

Fear deflected, deferred, she could face the rest of her evening. Really, once Steve came home, she would find her peace, but in the meantime, this would do.

 **xXxXxXx**

Too close. It was cutting too close for his liking. Still, he had been there, had subdued the shadowy attacker without her knowing the truth. Barely, as the fellow had dug in his heels, but he still managed to keep him just beyond the light, out of the way. He had seen the fear in her eyes through the darkness, the panic shoved down as she ventured towards them. It was pure luck that she did not shine the light on his face, did not give him away (though the glint off his arm did not help). She couldn't know, not yet. He wasn't out for recognition.

It was for redemption, payment for his sins committed when he couldn't control himself. Service rendered to make up for the time lost and the years wasted in hell, to aid a friend he had forgotten ever knowing. In his stolen vehicle, he drove into the surrounding country far from the city, the hired attacker to be disposed of without anyone the wiser. The truck bumped along a dirt road, jarring the discreet ball cap that hid his hair. His tracker, his connector to his redemption, was broken, snapped by his own hand not long ago. It was better this way, better to work without the captain or his partner having the ability to find him, should he want it. Right now, he what he wanted was what he knew best: the night, the shadows, the peace to work as he been forced to for many years. Now, however, he was able to put that training to good use. In a manner of speaking.

It took an assassin to deter assassins. And so long as HYDRA insisted on sending assassins out, he would meet them head-on. The Winter Soldier was no more. But the man left standing in his place was still someone to fear. Bucky Barnes had his eye on salvaging what was left of his friendship, his soul. Protecting this woman was a start. And perhaps, it could even be an end one day.

For now, this was what he would do.

* * *

 **A/N:** Kind of a slower chapter, not a ton of action, but then again, this story isn't all about the insane action all the time. Build-up, my lovely readers, it is build-up.

Yep, Holly is looking towards getting at least some rudimentary training in. She's not going to turn into an overnight superhero; trust me, that's not going to happen. But I have been remiss in giving her a base of any skill beyond bat-wielding. Thankfully, Clint is on the case. Why? Because...well, he's trained, he's actually kind of approachable, and well, she doesn't have a relationship with him. It would be uncomplicated to learn from him. Just the way the cookie crumbles. And she's not totally relying on him, either, just to make that clear.

Hello, sneaky Bucky. You're always a welcome blip on the radar when you're not in terrifying-assassin mode.

I don't own any references to the MCU, _The Karate Kid_ (both film versions), or any restaurants in downtown D.C. Also, listening to the song _Feeling Good_ was both conducive and counterproductive to my completing this chapter, and I definitely disavow owning it at all. Fun fact there.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	4. Chapter 4

Tapping through her day's itinerary, Maria marched through the halls of the Tower, sliding a finger across her personal touch-pad and reviewing the summons that was sent to her. Saturdays were primarily one of her days off, saving for when the team was on mission, and she did not want to spend the first one of March cooped up in a meeting for too long. Sighing, she made her way down to the expansive personal offices. Expecting most of the team, she was a little surprised to only see Natasha at one of the desks, fingers jumping along the keyboard as she maneuvered files to fill the computer screens facing her. Heels clicking along the polished floor, Maria merely took it in stride as she approached her fellow ex-agent.

"Anything new?" she asked. Natasha and she had jointly been monitoring the reverse tracking system that day, in the hopes that Loki's scepter would come into range and give up the last of HYDRA that defended it. Though JARVIS was on the case as well, the two women had designated the task as their own, as well as outlying threats. Maria more often than not brought potential missions to the fore, but Natasha liked to be on top of things herself. It was better all around for the pair to work together.

In answer, Natasha shook her head to the tracking digital read-out; not so much as a blip had pinged on the radar in regards to that. The scepter was well-hidden, most likely underground and used so sparingly that it couldn't be registered. Maybe Bruce would have to adjust the parameters again. Instead, she pulled up other databases, reports forwarded secretly and securely to the Avengers, in the hopes that they would take an interest in the cases cropping up around the globe.

Filling the screen with a map of Africa, Natasha traced her finger along the edge and murmured, "There's some abnormal movement along the African coast. Some reports of insurgents traveling up and down between the countries, but with no insignia and minimal contact with civilians. All they know is that when they do approach civilians, they 'speak with strange accents' if they do speak with them at all."

That was all the information gathered, but it still intrigued her. Her bright eyes darted from screen to screen, eyewitness accounts and covert photographs filtering in and out. New dissenting factions cropped up everyday, but this seemed...too familiar. Too organized, with efficient movements around and away from civilian populations, not to mention the massive trucks and tanks that had been reported. Maria glanced at her, shared a long looking of understanding. The brunette leaned forward to examine the screen, eyes narrowing in thought.

"It's probably worth looking into," she replied noncommittally, already mentally backlogging the information shared so she could begin her own investigations later. The other woman nodded, eyebrow arching perfectly.

"Given the fact that they appear to be shipping massive cargo, we should. But so far, they haven't done anything. And being armed while traveling between countries isn't exactly out of the realm of possibility," she conceded, knowing full well that what they were looking at was, sadly, not terribly out of the ordinary. Armies moved in and out all the time. Her gut, however, clenched when she stared longer at the files. There was more to it, she just knew.

Shifting through another set of pictures, Natasha sat up straighter, one sticking out of the mix. The unmarked soldiers were carrying weapons, but they didn't look like any sort of guns she'd ever seen before. Unfortunately, the picture was too grainy to truly know. Gesturing to her right, she forwarded the stack of pictures to Maria's tablet.

"Can you get a clearer picture of what they're armed with?" she asked, watching as Hill perused them, her brow furrowing. "They look...odd."

Maria half grinned, rising from her chair and dipping her chin. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks. I've got a feeling more is going on than meets the eye."

With nothing more to be said, Maria gave her a waggle of the fingers in lieu of a farewell, becoming absorbed in the task. The aura of confidence around Natasha slid away, her demeanor becoming pensive as she continued to stare at her monitors. Something in her stomach told her that whatever was happening across the world, it wasn't anything good. There was no way to explain it; however, it was feeling she was familiar with. She'd felt it before Budapest, before the battle of New York...many times, and her gut had not steered her wrong. However, as she had nothing concrete to go on, she would reserve her judgment. The team didn't need to know about it just yet. It was all so suspicious, though. It would be her responsibility to monitor the situation, and she would handle the new developments as they came. No need to potentially endanger any of her friends' lives if this ultimately came to nothing.

She could be wrong, for once; perhaps it was just an issue that did not need to be looked into by the Avengers. But if she was right...the Black Widow would exterminate the threat. One way or another.

 **xXxXxXx**

Lower in the building, two people descended into the open training arena, side by side and chatting as they went. The room had a boxing ring in one corner, some punching bags and dummies off to the side, and one half of the floor was covered with mats that brought memories of high school gym classes and wrestling matches to mind. Holly, gathering her hair back into a short ponytail, shrugged her shoulders off the studious look of her companion. Running a hand through his close-cropped hair, Clint Barton rolled his shoulders back, centering his body as he pondered what she'd just said.

"You know, normally taking advice from a movie is not exactly kosher, but that one...not so bad," he said after a minute, inclining his head. Holly smiled at that, stretching her arms up before dropping them down towards the floor.

"Sandy B. had all our backs in that one," she proclaimed, straightening up after another second or two. She'd never thought she could take something of use away from a romantic comedy, but the S.I.N.G. method seemed to have some merit. Running it by Clint, she was pleased to see that it wasn't wholly shut down by the agent.

He rolled his eyes. "So long as at some point, you get a shot at the groin, right?"

"Whatever allows me to get away." She made a scurrying motion with her hands, the smirk she sported growing wider when Clint returned it. Clapping his hands together once, the ex-agent took his place at the center of the floor, motioning for her to join him.

"Alright, showtime."

Glancing up at the paneled walkway above, she groaned, "God, I hope nobody's watching this."

Really, she just hoped Steve wouldn't be watching,or Natasha, for that matter. Really, anybody else in the building. Her level of expertise was sitting squarely at the lowest possible, in her estimation; she did not want her newbie skills on display at the moment.

Clint snorted, following her gaze. "I make no promises. Way too many glass walls in this building."

"Good thing that didn't extend to the private rooms," she muttered, twitching the hem of her shirt and not quite looking him in the eye. Barton shot her a significant look, as well as a wide smirk.

"Yeah, we probably don't want to see what's going on in your end of the building."

"Shut up."

"Hey, now," he chided her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Show some respect to your sensei."

"Whatever, Katniss," Holly retorted, enjoying the stalling far too much to push past it.

"And here I thought you'd go with the Legolas reference." Off her inquisitive expression, he clarified, "Stark does it all the time."

"Too obvious, and you're too...not elvish." Blowing out a breath, she glanced once more at the upper walkway, she asked, "Should I just meet you in the middle and call you Daryl?"

"Crossbow notwithstanding, I'll take that over a teenage girl with a thing for bread."

"Wrong kind of pita."

Shaking his head, Barton said no more but gestured to the mat, indicating that stalling any longer would be futile. Sighing, Holly took a step forward, ready for another round of pain. Since meeting with Clint to train was going to be sporadic at best, he determined that for every day she was at the Tower, they would meet for a coupe hours at a time. Barring injury or missions, naturally, but it would be necessary. So far, the experience had been enlightening. Her self-defense courses were teaching her to use the minimal amount of energy and force to inflict the maximum amount of pain on an attacker, and Barton emphasized that. However, he also had a proclivity for armed combat, and had mentioned that in the future, he would incorporate options that allowed for the use of her baseball bat (he could make accommodations for her weapon of choice; after all, he had his own, and was alive today because of it).

For now, though, he was teaching her how use the natural defenses of her body: using the knees, elbows, and head. This was covered in class, but he insisted on going over everything, making sure the skills were driven into her memory. As well as that, he wanted to explain how the attacker would be thinking as he was going after her. Getting into the mind of the assailant could allow her to anticipate actions, counter them. So far, it was a lot of potential threats that ultimately landed her on her back, staring at the overhead lights and and hand extended in her peripherals to get her back up again.

It was worth it, she reminded herself, sweating dripping from her brow as Clint helped her back onto her feet. It was something she needed to know, for her safety, for her life. And after the last couple of weeks, she felt like she was retaining most of it. It was the trickier stuff that was knocking her down, but she was getting better, little by little.

They worked on escapes for several minutes, over and over until her brain pounded and her body started to grow weary. At one point, Barton came at her from the side, hand locking around her wrist firmly. Dropping a little, she put as much power as she could into her stance, bending her elbow as she leaned forward. As it came towards his forearm, he was forced to release her. Given an opening, she rose, driving her knee up and actually catching him off-guard in the stomach before shouldering him away. He stumbled back, hand to his gut and breathing hard. Her first instinct was to get closer, to see if he was alright, but in one of the first sessions they had, he sharply reprimanded her. She had to behave like she'd felled an attacker, and stay away; sentiment was fine and all, but on that mat, it had no place.

Glancing up at her, he managed a small grin, getting onto his knees.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't go right for the balls."

Bracing her hands on her thighs, she snickered. "This time."

Getting back onto his feet, Clint gave her a look of approval. She was learning, and she wasn't giving up. The kid definitely had that in her favor. It would do her well in the long run. But she was far from being an expert. Bending his knees a little, he lifted his arms.

"Another round."

Muttering darkly, Holly opened up her stance. Still worth it, she thought, as she waited for him to execute his next move.

 **xXxXxXx**

"Good Lord, Holl. You look like hell."

Holly glared at the screen propped on her lap, taking another swing from her water bottle. Her family had a penchant for being too forthright with one another, but sometimes she wished her brother could have learned to be a little more tactful.

"Nice to see you, too, Hank. I was training, for your information," she replied, plucking at her shirt to allow air flow in. Her training with Clint finished for the day, she'd been on her way to shower and change when the Skype call came in. Forgoing her plans for the moment, she settled for doing whatever she could to make the sweat dry faster as they spoke. At least she had the living room to herself; Steve was out, discussing possible armor upgrades for his suit with Tony.

Snorting, Hank raised his eyebrows. "For what? The Ninth Circle Fun Run?"

Closing her eyes, she shook her head at him. "Like you've read _Inferno._ "

Hank shrugged, smirking widely. "Reading the Cliff Notes counts. Or it did with my professor, back in the day. But anyway, training for..."

"For myself. Self-defense," she explained, seeing the precise moment when his hazel eyes began to reflect concern over poking fun at her.

"Have you been in trouble?"

"No," she replied immediately, her haste making her sound slightly unbelievable if his expression was any indication. Tilting her chin up, she continued, "But it never hurts to be prepared."

"Following your Boy Scout boyfriend's mantra, I bet." Hank held up three fingers, mocking tone in his voice. Granted, he was using the incorrect salute (she wasn't going to set him straight; it was privately amused her), but it didn't take away from his point.

Her dark eyes narrowed. "Because I can't make the decision to start protecting myself on my own, right?"

The warning note in her voice told him he was treading on thin ice, and he had no desire to keep pushing that.

"I didn't mean—" Hank cut himself off midstream, noticing something over her shoulder. Having heard the approach herself, she bit her lip to stop the smarmy smirk that threatened to bloom. Glancing back, she met Steve's bright gaze, face passive as he leaned and settled his arms along the back of the couch. Tilting the screen back a little, Holly set the laptop down on the coffee table, waiting to see how things would go. To say that the relationship between her boyfriend and her brother was tenuous was a slight understatement, but they'd been on civil terms after Christmas, as far as she knew.

"Hello, Hank," Steve greeted the other man, his tone measured.

"Steve," he returned, leaning back in his seat on his end. "Doing good?"

"Alive and kicking, as they say," Steve remarked, placing a hand on Holly's shoulder as he spoke. "And yourself?"

Hank shrugged, gaze cutting to the left. "I'm fine."

"The rest of the family, too? Everyone's okay?"

"Yeah. Dad mentioned that you called, said he meant to get back to you earlier," her brother reported, a corner of his mouth lifting. "Anything you care to divulge on that?"

The captain darted a look at Holly swiftly, her curiosity growing as he shrugged and glanced away himself.

"Had a couple of questions for him about coming out here. I can wait until he has the time," he explained, quelling her unspoken questions for the moment. Squeezing her shoulder, he leaned over and gave her a peck on the temple before looking back at Hank. "I didn't mean to horn in on your catching up. I'll leave you to it. Bye, Hank."

"Later, dude," he called out as Steve walked away and disappeared into the bedroom. Holly exhaled softly, linking her hands together and resting them in her lap.

"Wow, you two have a love affair for the ages."

"Oh yeah, it's burning with the fire of a thousand suns," Hank retorted sarcastically. She sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I should just be glad that you're getting along, period."

That made him pause, really look at her. In a moment of clarity, the amusement drained away.

"You really think I don't like him. He's not a bad guy, I know that. It's..." Hank trailed off, his voice lost for the moment. Still, she understood what he wasn't saying; they'd talked at length, a few times, about the danger of being involved with a national icon, an operative...a superhero. Grunting, the older brother brushed through his dark hair, waving a hand superfluously. "We're not getting into that again."

"No, we don't need to," Holly agreed. She definitely didn't want to have that pointless conversation again.

"We're on decent terms. We'll just leave it at that."

"Okay," she said. Tapping a finger on her knee, she turned over all the thoughts in her mind, choosing one. "Change of subject: Mom said you're seeing someone new."

"Oh, geez," Hank groaned, though Holly could swear she caught a brief sheepish grin when he tried turning away.

"Come on, give Little Sis the deets, as the hip youths say," she said, brightening a little as she teased him. Quickly, he confessed that he had had a couple dates with a new girl (who frankly sounded worlds better than his ex-wife, but she couldn't be sure until she actually met the woman), but it wasn't a big deal. Shifting the conversation yet again, the pair got caught up, reports on how Jodie was doing in school and such followed by how life was progressing on her end. Holly was happy to hear whatever he had to say; though she and her sister were closer in age, Hank had been the one she really bonded with as they were growing up. Once he got out of his "yuck-my-sister" phase, at least. He'd been there for her, through bad break-ups and major changes and so much else. It was hard to disagree with him at times, but whatever came between them, they found a way to work around it. She missed him, and the rest of the family, a lot.

With a promise to get in touch again soon, Holly closed her laptop, pressing back into the couch and taking a deep breath before she got to her feet. Padding quietly to the bedroom, she let the door swing open, resting her shoulder on the jamb. Steve was on the bed, bent over a new sketchbook, one pencil tucked behind his ear and a different one moving across the paper. Glancing up at the sound of the door opening, the warmth of his gaze flooded her before his eyes switched back the book. Kicking off her shoes, she took a seat beside him. She watched him sketch for a moment, looping shapes taking form, turning into hands, a timepiece.

"Sorry that took so long," she apologized. The time she had with him was precious, slipping by so quickly that she found herself aching and wanting whenever she had to leave. She had her own life, her own place in the world, but that didn't negate how much she wanted him to be part of it for more than just a moment here and there. In her heart, she knew he felt the same way.

He was still attending to the sketchbook, but he still shook his head in response to her words.

"It's okay. It's your family," he said, blue eyes reflecting understanding as another pencil stroke graced the paper. Gently, she reached out, placing her hand on his wrist and making him pause in his drawing. She waited until his full attention was on her before slipping her arms around his shoulders, face pressed into the crook of his neck. Carefully he took her into his embrace, holding her for the moment.

"So are you," she whispered, so softly she wasn't sure that Steve, with his scary-good hearing, could hear it. It was the truth, and she couldn't help but speak it, in any case. Deep down, he had become more than just her friend, her lover, more than she could say beyond those words. He must have heard, though, if his tighter embrace and eventual deep kiss were anything to go by.

Pulling back a little, he wrinkled his nose briefly before grinning. "You should go get ready."

Her eyebrows inclined a fraction. "Why?"

"Because I wanna take my girl out, and I don't think you want to wear your sweats around town," he said, tugging at the garment in question. Returning his expression, she grazed his lips with another kiss and slid away.

"As stylish as they are, I think I'll do that."

 **xXxXxXx**

"You know, the city is starting to grow on me," Holly confessed, casting her gaze out towards the buildings that cropped up above the treeline. The pair were wandering around Central Park, hand in hand as the day began to wind down. With disguises donned (heavy sunglasses for her, the horn-rimmed glasses and ball cap for him—Yankees, which he hated. Still, it served better than a Dodgers cap would; he would've stuck out with one of those on), they'd spent the afternoon exploring the city. Crowded and crammed as it was, they had a good time marching around the streets, the traditional sights eschewed in favor of finding ones off the beaten path. One such place was the diner they had dinner at; another included the art shop Steve had discovered a few months ago, with Holly perusing the gallery and him ogling the supplies being sold. The underground bookstore was a new favorite; she hadn't been able to walk away from that without a novel in hand. If they were spotted or stared at by anyone, they had the decency to not push themselves forward; both had been caught in the autograph fray before, and even if on occasion it could be tolerated (any support for the team was good), it would not ave been welcomed at that time. Nestling close to his side as they walked, she noticed the flash of pleasure across his features, the concurring nod following closely.

"It has a certain appeal. Definitely for the creative crowd, I can say that much," he replied, tugging on the bill of his cap with a brief twist of distaste on his lips. The glasses were removed awhile ago, tucked into a pocket of his leather jacket as they went along.

She giggled. "How fortunate for you."

"For both of us," he pointed out. The literary force for the country had taken up residence in the city, appealing to aspiring authors as others appealed to the artistic crowd. "Which does make me wonder why you didn't move here initially when you came out to the east coast."

"The dart landed closer to D.C."

Steve snickered at that. Long ago, he'd asked her why she moved out east in the first place, back when they'd first met. It had come down to being her last year of college, and she'd had a realization that she really had never left home, been anywhere, done anything new. Not liking it, she'd hauled out a map of the states, took her brother's darts, and would move after graduation to whatever city the dart landed closest to. Holly had confessed that it was big risk, but one she was willing to take, in the end.

"You had veto power," he recalled, knowing she would have set a contingency in place if she didn't like the outcome.

Holly tipped her head to the left. "Yes. But to those of us who weren't born and raised here, New York can be very intimidating. D.C. didn't strike me that way."

"Despite being a continual target," he couldn't resist interjecting.

She shrugged, the shoulders of her jacket hunching. "A lot of people in that city work daily to keep it, and the country, at a decent level of safety, for the most part. It was an adventure, moving somewhere new. Hadn't ever moved before, not even for college. I thought Mom was gonna have a stroke when I told her my plan."

Steve faux-grimaced. "No offense, but I can see Lisa having a bit of an issue with it."

"None taken." Holly couldn't refute the point; while a good woman, her mom had a tendency to smother those in her sphere of influence. Not to mention borrow trouble to the nth degree, a trait that she had inherited (to a lesser extent, of course). "And in her place, I can understand it; her youngest daughter decided to pull up sticks and move out to the other side of the country. I'd be concerned, too."

"Must have been tough, either way."

Holly gave a little hum of agreement. "It was, but once I got there, I did my best to keep busy, make it a new home. And it has been, for almost five years. I was originally going to be out there for one, but, well, winters on the coast are a little more tolerable than when you're landlocked. And then some pretty neat stuff began going on, so it was better to stay."

His grip on her hand tightened, the grin on his lips a little shy. "Not to mention you've met some interesting people."

The smile she gave, a special one he hadn't ever seen her give anyone else, melted his heart. "Very true."

They walked on in silence for a few minutes, staying close as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Steve took stock of the park around them: trees on the verge of life once more, the worn footpath, benches, the people on their own journeys through. They'd gotten far enough to see the Bethesda Fountain in sharp detail, it and its terrace only a short distance away. He swallowed, dragging his gaze up to the hazy sky for a moment, drawing inspiration to speak.

"Well, I'm glad you took the chance, in any case," he told her, slowing in his steps. Coming to a full halt, he turned to face her. Her dark eyes reflected curiosity at his pause, and he coughed once, endeavoring to sound nonchalant. "Would you ever risk that again? Moving, I mean. Just, you know, in the future..."

Against his own volition, he felt his nerves snap and fray, the quiet following his words eating at him. Fingers shifted under his, but did not pull away. Taking measured breaths, he gauged her reaction to his question. There was no outrage, no outright rejection. Pure thoughtfulness decorated her face, a faint tint of pink on her cheeks as she considered her answer.

"Not gonna rule it out," she replied slowly, as though she were speaking to a frightened animal. He chided himself inwardly for stumbling over his words, something he didn't do often around her anymore. "It could happen, under the right circumstances."

The emphasis on the final words could not be missed. Something inside him loosened, felt better as she spoke. Circumstances...the right ones...Steve dipped his chin once, no response on his tongue but a blooming smile on his mouth. Cupping her chin in one hand, he moved in for a kiss, but was cut off by the tremor of the ground under his feet. A distant boom blossomed in its wake. Jerking away suddenly, he scanned the area, noting the confused and nervous expressions on the men and women nearby. Something was wrong. Sharing a worried glance with Holly, he looked up, above the treeline. A billow of smoke, blotting the sunset, hovered in the air far away, sirens wailing in the distance.

"What was—" Holly wondered, gripping his arm and following his gaze. Taking her by the elbow, he began to guide her away, out of the park. Memories blotted his mind, flashing in and out as they moved. It was too familiar, something he knew too well to be wrong about.

"An explosion." His mouth was set in a grim line, the thud of his heart echoing in his ears.

"Oh, no," she gasped, face paling. This was definitely not good. Intertwining their fingers again, Steve set the pace, looking for the quickest route out.

"Come on."

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh hey, cliffhanger, how you doin'? ;) Sorry to leave it there, folks, but that's just the way things happened! I apologize if everything seems a little disjointed at the moment, but again, I'm building up to things; there is a point to all this!

Holly's no star ninja, but she's learning! And brother Hank makes his first "Eleventh Hour" appearance. Yeah...oh, and that explosion? All shall be explained...as well as a few other things.

Don't mind me, I always laugh evilly to myself...

I don't own any elements from the MCU, _Miss Congeniality, The Hunger Games, The Lord of the Rings, The Walking Dead,_ or Dante's _The Divine Comedy:_ _Inferno._ Landmarks from the city of New York, while beautiful, also do no belong to me. Same goes for technologies/stuff that seems like I don't own it.

I'll try to update again before Christmas, but just in case I can't: merry/happy Christmas/holidays! Have fun!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!


	5. Chapter 5

The pair trotted along the path, the pace quickening in short bursts as they went. Steve kept a firm hold on Holly's hand as they weaved around the other passersby, some of whom were similarly running along. The rocking ground and echoing boom across the cityscape had jarred them, frightened. Many looked skyward, as if anticipating an aerial attack. He considered that option as well, but the lack of audible plane or jet noise made him believe it was a ground attack. Images of grenades detonating flashed in his mind, vehicles on fire and the frightened screams of the trapped mingling. He pulled up in a stop, Holly bracing her hands on her knees and catching her breath while he let his gaze travel along the sky again. Despite the darkness that was falling, the smoke drifting up backlit by the bright city lights. Pinpointing where they were in the park, it would be several minutes until they made it to the exit.

"Came from the southwest, no more than a few miles away," he noted aloud, eyes narrowing as he concentrated. He had an idea of exactly where that blast had come from, and it unsettled him. They were cutting across the park as quickly as possible, just to at least get back to his bike, which they had left parked on the eastern side (part of their city exploration had involved an extended motorcycle ride around the different neighborhood). A tug on his jacket brought his attention back to the woman at his side, her reddened face tilting back as harsh gasps came out. Holly had been exercising more as of late, but she would never be at the level he was at.

"Steve, I can't keep running like this. Gah…" she croaked, idly feeling as though her lungs and legs were on fire. There was no way she could keep up the pace, and was about to propose he go on without her when he shook his head and crouched slightly.

Pivoting around, he motioned her to come forward. "Get on my back."

She went slack-jawed for a moment. Sure, he was much faster than her, but was he really suggesting that? Her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline, and she waved her hands superfluously. "Seriously?! You're going to carry me piggy-back out of here? You've got to be joking!"

Steve frowned, gaze narrowing in a muted glare. "Would you rather I fling over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?! Because I can do that instead!"

Not at all a fan of the fireman-carry idea, Holly pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "Jesus, fine, whatever!"

"Don't say that," he reprimanded her, rolling his eyes. Bracing himself, he continued, "Come on, we're not going that far."

Tossing her hair, Holly executed a small hop, her grip locking around his shoulders and legs supported by his arms. Barely seconds after she was situated, he took off, the bubbling shriek dying in her throat. Good grief, Steve was fast. She knew he kept up with his running, missions or no, but it was one thing to see it and another to be lugged along for the ride. He voiced no complaints about carrying her, but her nerves were jangled as he went, weaving and darting and leaving more than one person in their wake, staring.

' _Please don't trip, please don't trip, please don't trip,'_ was her mantra as they went, eyelids squeezing shut at intervals as they went. Soon enough, they arrived at the motorcycle, and she was practically drooping with relief when Steve set her down. Retrieving a helmet from one of the packs, he passed it off to her (his own helmet was stored away; he never really had gotten into the habit wearing one other than with his uniform, despite her vocal objections to the contrary).

"I'll drop you at the Tower first," he said, swinging a leg over the bike, firing it up. Wrestling with the chin strap, Holly followed suit, jabbing a finger into his shoulder as she clambered on behind him.

"There's no time for that," she told him. Off the incredulous look he shot her when he glanced back, she brushed over it. "Let's go, come on!"

Immediately he shook his head, denial written all over his face. Bringing her into potential danger was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. "I'm not—"

Holly cut him off, hooking a thumb towards the road. "You wanna to fight about this or do you want to get there before things get worse?"

His mouth quirked, and she could see the very real temptation to argue his case further surfacing. When she spoke again, she made herself adopt a calmer tone, though it wasn't by any means placid.

"I'm not breaking my promise. I said I wouldn't interfere, and I'm not trying to. But if you want answers, you can't afford to do any sidetracking. I can stay out of the way; I know how to do that. Come on."

It would be a risk, taking her along to investigate. The source of the explosion could be almost anything, he knew that from experience. It had the potential to be very dicey. However, she'd had a point; he could take the time, head back to the Tower, leave her there, but those valuable minutes would be lost. The odds were too varied, something he really didn't care for. The clock was ticking, louder and louder with each passing second. After looking at her, hardness in his expression, he faced front again.

"For the record, I'm not okay with this," he grumbled, just as the ball cap was swept from his head and his discarded helmet was crammed on instead. Muttering more under his breath, he adjusted the strap as she packed the cap away, hands coming to rest tightly around his waist.

"Noted; we'll argue about it later," she replied, darting her gaze at traffic and spotting a a gap in the oncoming rush. "Just go!"

The motorcycle roared as he gave it gas, her arms clutching harder as they shot away. Weaving the bike in and out of traffic, the sounds of sirens and wails of breaking cars screeched through the air, as they went. Night had fallen completely by that point, the flashing lights atop squad cars and firetrucks the heralds of the streets. Road blocks were set up, to be obeyed, but Steve cut through alleys and side streets, unwilling to be sidetracked. The acrid gusts of smoke and fire wafted around them, and suddenly Steve hit hard on the brakes, making both of them lurch forward in their seats. Another blockade in his path, but he did not turn the bike around. Rather, he parked it, removing his helmet and staring up at the sight in front of him. Flipping up the visor on hers, Holly gasped.

Shattered glass glittered in the lamp lights, the blues and reds of the police vehicle lights reflecting on and off. Bricks and wood coated the sidewalks, dust and dents in the concrete where they had settled. Fire had spilled out, catching along the sides of nearby buildings and along the tar of the road. Water gushed out of nearby hydrants, hoses attached with haste and fighters squaring up to fight the flames. A few token officers were rushing around, bustling people away to safety, crowds pressing along the barriers and gaping in total shock. Where a single tenement building had once been, there remained only a shell, splintered floors and collapsed beams burning brightly.

"Oh, my God."

 **xXxXxXx**

"The cops were calling it an accident," Holly reported to the team, congregating in the sitting area outside the top-floor laboratory. Tony and Thor were not present, one being in California and the other in London, but the others wanted to know what they'd seen. Maria's fingers tripped nimbly across her tablet, murmuring quietly into the bluetooth perched in her ear as Natasha delved into her laptop for any online information. Clint and Bruce took the report in silence, glancing around every so often as she spoke. She and Steve had returned roughly an hour after their arrival at the explosion site, firsthand knowledge to be expounded on with the others. Though they'd gone to discover the truth, there wasn't much for the police officer in charge to tell Steve. Captain America or not, the situation did not call for his presence, and he was summarily dismissed. Not in so many words, of course, but the sentiment had remained, and he had not been pleased to be turned away. Holly had hung back, observing the crowds around them, the cops who had been on hand to assist the wounded, and something about it all seemed off. "When we got there, there was a lot of talk about it being a broken gas line that ignited, but the way they acted…"

Steve, sitting on the arm of one couch, scoffed at that. "Trust me, what happened there was no accident. Most likely they were preventing panic in the street by saying it was."

Maria nodded confirmation. "Right on the nose, Captain. Internal speculation is that it was intentional, possibly a disgruntled former tenant getting back at the previous landlord by planting a bomb of sorts. Guy's bought up all over town, and he's not making any friends. Particularly when he leaves them in this state of disrepair."

She handed him her tablet, letting him scroll through the assorted files and photographs that had made the digital transfer at the precinct. Connections with local law enforcement allowed her access, though none of them were too sure that her connections were anything other than dubious. Still, at least it gave them the chance to actually look at the official reports, determining lies from truth.

She had been right; the landlord who had rights to the destroyed property was not a decent man, on any account. His record was fraught with misdemeanors and misconduct, heavy-handed profiteering decorating his past as well. If it was a case of revenge, it wasn't exactly out of the realm of reality. Holly, leaning her elbow along the back of the couch, sneaked a peek at the report over Steve's shoulder, his glare of reprehension causing her to avert her eyes upward when he caught her.

"They find any parts? Er, casings for the bombs?" Holly asked, brow furrowing in thought. Maria just gave her a look, one that she shrugged at. "Sue me, I've watched a lot of crime shows. Some of the elements in those things have to be true."

Natasha jumped in then, having tapped into Maria's recoveries and also accessing other outlets to investigate. "Some have been, at key points in the structure meant to destabilize it. Thus far, no casualties have been reported, but there have been several injured. The news outlets are worried about possible retaliation turning into a street war. It's not exactly the best part of the city."

A keystroke later, a digital blueprint of the building filling screens, areas marked where the explosives could have been placed. On the border of Hell's Kitchen, it was prone to being witness to other terrible events, but it was strange that it would end up being the epicenter of one. Clint stared at the screen, shaking his head and scratching his neck.

"So, they think this is an isolated incident," he surmised, mirroring the skeptical expressions of his teammates. Maria shrugged once more, taking her tablet back from Steve.

"Seems to be—"

A tremor shot through the floor then, shaking the tables and tumblers along the bar. To the west, bursts of flames dotted the buildings in the distance, the echoes of pops and booms penetrating the windowed walls as everyone jumped up, gawking in stunned silence. Holly rushed forward, palm pressed against the glass as the evening's events inevitably repeated.

"This can't be real."

"Okay…this is not isolated," Barton interjected, pointing out the window and slightly dumbfounded.

"No shit," Holly muttered under her breath, eye wide. Steve's mouth set in a grim, thin line as he looked out at the blossoming smoke clouds.

"We're going. Now," he announced, not bothering to wait for agreement, knowing full well the others would be with him. Maria crossed her arms over her chest, head tilting to the side.

"I'd say I'd call the police, but odds are, they'll be calling here in three, two…" The bluetooth in her ear blinked, ringing permeating around her. She shared a brief, amused glance with Natasha as she answered. "Prompt, aren't they?"

"Nat, Clint, you're with me. Evacuation and investigation." The two ex-agents dipped their chins, the former going to the downstairs to gather up com-links after the command was given. He paused, glanced at the doctor. Bringing him along could trigger poor memories in Banner, but if he could help the EMTs...he did have a background in general practice, after all. "Bruce—"

"I can do triage, if it's needed," the doctor murmured, falling in line with his thinking. Steve nodded, relieved that he was willing to do that much, at least.

"Good. Maria, call when you have any news," he said, her answer a thumbs-up as she continued her conversation with the officer on the other end of the line. "JARVIS, get a hold of Tony and Thor, keep them informed and primed just in case this escalates."

"Yes, Captain," the UI answered, simulated voice hard and authoritative.

Then, his eyes drifted over to the last person standing, his expression flitting from stern to concerned in a fraction of a second. Holly knew that look; it was one she'd directed at him often, when his work was unpredictable and he was compelled to heed its call, no matter what. Circumstance had forced his hand earlier, but with the increase of peril, she knew he would want her to stay behind. Seeking out trouble was not her intent; this time, she would not push the issue. After all, she did know the difference between when she could be of help and when her presence would do more harm than good. Holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender, she merely sighed as he exhaled slowly. Grabbing his shield from its resting spot beside the coffee table, he went to her, her fingers cradling his head as he bent down and lips pressing firmly against his.

"Stay safe," Holly whispered, releasing her hold on him as the others returned. With links in their ears and concealable weapons on hand, the remaining Avengers retreated to the elevator. Waving, she managed a weak grin as the doors swept shut, whisking them away. Maria, wrapping up her call, made her way past her to the stairs, intent on working from her office. At a loss for a minute or two, Holly clattered after her, catching up as she turned down a longer hallway a few floors below. "Is there anything I could do? I can't just sit around and do nothing."

The determined set of her countenance told Maria that she would brook no argument here. She may have promised to stay out of the way this time, but that didn't mean she would stand idly by and fret over what was going on. She did that enough normally, when she had no choice but to do so. Not now; Holly refused to be useless when others were doing all that they could to help.

Lights flickered on as they entered a large room, dominated by a sitting area and a large desk along the north wall. Digital displays decorated the walls, most of which seemed to be streaming world news websites and intelligence codes, if Holly had to guess. The computer monitor on the desk brightened as Maria sat down, tablet linking immediately with it as she attacked the keyboard.

"Since you're here, keep an eye on the media coverage," she said, knowing how public perception of the evening's events could sway the amount of involvement law enforcement would put up with, would pressure worlds councils to act one way or another. Retrieving a spare laptop from one of the desk drawers, she handed it off to Holly. "Save anything that seems useful."

Taking the equipment, Holly's eyebrows raised a fraction. "Useful meaning…?"

Maria's lips twisted up in a sardonic smirk. "I think you can figure it out."

Left on her own, Holly merely inclined her head at the ex-operative, striding towards the cushioned chairs on the opposite end of the room. No sense in leaving if she was going to be working in tandem with Maria.

"Okay, then," she breathed, hesitant fingers tripping along the keys. Opening up the channel that synched directly to the UI, she spoke into the device's microphone. "JARVIS, help me out here. All news and alternate media coverage, keywords: Hell's Kitchen, explosion, fire."

"Yes, ma'am," JARVIS responded, the screen immediately filling with tab after tab of gathered data. News reports, statuses, intercepted radio and podcasts streamed before her eyes, the look on her face sliding into a deadpan expression.

"That is a lot of Twitter posts."

"The amount of content that can fit into a maximum of 140 characters can be impressive at times, ma'am," JARVIS observed, the evidence stacking up and spilling over before she could make sense of it all. The pad of her finger glided over the trackpad, her double-tap bringing up the earliest known report of the secondary explosions.

"Fair point," she conceded to the UI, now bent over her task with the intent to see it through. "Holy balls…"

A little over an hour later, an incoming call interrupted her search, a familiar face filling the the screen as he stared down in his handheld.

"Kiddo, tell me what's up in the bright lights and big city."

Holly's lips stretched into a tired grin. "Tony. I figured you would've sussed out JARVIS already, or that Maria would tell you."

He shrugged, resting his chin in his hand. "You think she would, being on my payroll and all, but no. It was her rather hastily referring me to you that brings us together in this magical moment."

She snickered, gesturing with one finger to the air. "Still, JARVIS…"

"I need human interpretation of the data," Tony interrupted, seemingly pacing now if the bobbing of the screen was anything to go by. Soon enough he settled in a chair, wine bottles stacked high behind him. "Or sentient interpretation, at least. Also, I'm stuck here for the time being, could use the entertainment."

Holly wrinkled her nose at that. "What a lovely way to look at the situation."

"C'mon, Ankle-Biter, gimme something."

Rolling her eyes at the new nickname, she proceeded to explain what had happened thus far. What had started off as a singular "gas leak" had morphed into a potential terrorist attack. Four more buildings had fallen to flame and ash, the fires spreading and the city in panic. No statements had been released about the concurrent explosions, but most of the internet had their own opinions on the matter. Hell's Kitchen, in that moment, was living up to its name; the people feared whatever demons had inspired such an occurrence, pointing the finger at the local government, at corrupt police officers, at specific activist groups.

"A few of them are pinning the blame on the masked man," she reported, the words leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Stark lifted a shoulder, finger moving off to the side of his handheld (no doubt mining into his own research).

"Not surprised," he said, sighing slightly melodramatically. "No good deeds, remember, even if his good deeds have namely been kicking the crap out of two-bit thugs."

She exhaled sharply, not too sure about the accusations. "Even so, his M.O hasn't ever involved explosives, from the reports I've read. This seems wrong."

"Let's hope you're right, as far as that goes," Stark replied. He didn't hold a very high opinion about the masked vigilante in New York (he found the improbability of a lone, masked man with evidently shaded eyes making headway on his own to be a little much), but it wasn't like he was harming more than he had to. Provided that was still true. "Either way, it's not good. Because if this is a case of evolving technique, this could be practice. Or if it comes from an outside source...still could be build-up for a much bigger target."

"Such as the Tower?" Holly wondered, her gut constricting nervously.

"Or the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Chrysler...lots of big, lovely skyscrapers to pick from out there," Tony pointed out, counting off the buildings on his spare hand. "Depends on what statement needs to be made."

"Comforting thought."

"Isn't it?" A voice called out his name then, drawing his attention away from the screen. Eyes darting back and forth between the call and beyond the handheld, Tony rose from his chair, pulling a wine bottle from the rack and heading away from his cellar. "My presence is being requested, at the highest level. You find out anything new, have JARVIS pass it on. Thor needs to be kept in the loop, too."

Holly acquiesced, compiling everything she had to forward into a file. "He is, trust me. Maria is all over that."

"Hopefully not. We don't want a jealous Jane on our hands," Tony remarked, shuddering at the thought. Holly stuck her tongue out at him.

"You're not funny."

His answering grin dropped by a degree or two, the gravity that always sat at the edge of his mind infiltrating. "Stay safe, kiddo."

Signing off, he was gone before she could reply, leaving her to her own thoughts as she continued to work.

 **xXxXxXx**

"What?" Steve almost growled, his frustration growing as the sergeant before him halted him in his activities. The man, a frazzled fellow in his mid-forties, held up his hand as the American hero took a step forward, preempting him from going further. With firemen and other rescue crews milling around them, the guy seemed burdened enough. His sharp green eyes betrayed him, though he attempted to be civil. After all, they'd done their fair share of helping over the last few hours, extracting survivors from the wrecked buildings, and one of them helping the emergency teams tend to the wounded. Still, it didn't change the fact that he had to tell them to stop.

The chaos earlier in the evening had been a cakewalk compared to what was going on around them. Four different buildings, four different explosions, numerous casualties and no answers. The night was shaping up terribly, and really could only get worse from there.

"Captain, we appreciate the assistance of you and your team, really," he said, nodding to each member in question as they rallied around their leader. "But until we have any further evidence that these incidents—"

"Pretty major incidents," Natasha ascertained, hands on hips and eyebrow arching at the officer's choice of phrase.

Barton brought his chin up, gesturing to the vans pulling in at that moment, "Enough to call in S.W.A.T., no less."

The smaller man, Doctor Banner, had said nothing, but the dark look in his eyes told him exactly what he thought about the turn of events. However, the decision to call in the S.W.A.T. team was not the sergeant's call, and he didn't like the implication of blame one bit. The department had gotten desperate to track down the masked man and his accomplice after losing custody of them, but the level of desperation wasn't high enough to keep the Avengers on the scene. He had his orders, he needed to follow them.

"—Should these _incidents_ require more Avenger aid, we'll ask you to come back. For now, we need you to leave. People will panic with you here, they're already panicking," he explained, flapping his fingers at the civilians milling beyond the barriers, pointing out Hawkeye, the Black Widow, voices a rush of whispers and fear. "I've had three people ask me if the aliens are back, just because they saw you. You might antagonize the wrong crowd."

The sergeant spread his hands, seeing each and every one them preparing to voice their wish to continue to help.

"Orders came from above, sir," he told the captain, willing him to understand. This was not their problem; it was the force's, as his commanding officer had sworn to him several minutes before. The harsh set of his face belied the pleading look in his eyes. "Please."

Several long moments passed, the team holding position while the captain looked beyond the sergeant, vacillating on the course of action to take. Eventually, he gracefully took a step back, giving the fellow ground.

"Fine," he agreed, taking the sergeant's hand and giving it a perfunctory shake. The fellow's grateful expression was undeniable.

"Thank you, Captain. Everyone," he expressed quietly, moving into the stream of blue suits and diving back into the work at hand.

"So, should we go grab some tacos, or pizza?" Barton joked, figuring an injection of levity was needed. However, without Stark around to reciprocate, it fell a little flat. Steve and Natasha shared a glance, one borne of many missions working together. Granted, their objectives didn't always mesh, but often they found themselves communicating silently, the intuitive agent picking up on what the captain was thinking. She shook her head, poking Barton on the arm.

"Better make ours to-go. This entire situation smells wrong, and I'm not just talking about the gasoline funk in the air," she stated, the hum of agreement passing from man to man as they digested her words. Gesturing to herself and Clint, she went on, "We'll stay, keep an eye on things. So long as you walk away, they won't look too hard for us."

Everything, from the prior explosion to the suspicious body count of the warehouse locations to the arrival of the S.W.A.T. team, seemed too off-kilter to be taken as it was. More was going on here, the nagging doubt sitting in the back of their minds telling them that they should have noticed sooner, intervened quicker. With on-site reconnaissance, she was sure Clint and she could discover more. Steve breathed out, dipping his chin once.

"Links in. Let us know when you have something."

Bruce shot Natasha and Clint a worried glance, the tense set of his body showing as he walked away with the captain.

"Be careful," he murmured, directing the words more at Romanoff than Barton, his dark eyes fastening onto hers for a second or two before dropping. Saluting him with a couple of fingers, the archer missed the lightning-fast smile on the ex-agent's lips.

"So, start from the warehouse and work our way out?"

Rolling her shoulders, Natasha led the way through the shadows, confident about the cover at her back.

"Sounds like a plan."

 **xXxXxXx**

Coming off yet another call, Maria blew out a puff of air, unhooking the bluetooth from her ear and tossing it down onto her desk. Nothing more to do for tonight; the S.W.A.T. team had found and eliminated one of the hostile pair they'd pursued from the bombing. The masked man was still missing, but the police were confident he would be flushed out in no time. No need for Avenger intervention, no need for her to poke her nose where it no longer belonged. Granted, they had used words that were not so kind, but she understood the gist of what they were saying. A message flashed across her screen: Steve and Bruce had returned a short while ago, and had brought dinner. Taking the not-so-subtle invitation to join them, she took it upon herself to rouse the woman curled up in one of her armchairs. Her laptop blinked with a few alerts, bearing the same message she'd gotten only a couple moments before, but she had not responded. Her eyes were firmly shut, her head lolling off to one side. Maria snickered to herself.

"Uh-oh. The new hire's slacking."

Blinking sleepily, Holly waved her away, scrubbing at her face. "Just resting my eyes."

"Yeah, sure you were," Maria retorted, shaking her head. Hooking a thumb at the door, she murmured, "Let's head upstairs. This'll keep for the time being."

Unfolding her limbs, Holly yawned and stretched her arms above her head. "Okay. Are you sure that—"

"Go," Hill gently commanded, practically scooting her out the door in front of her. Electing to take the elevator, the two women stepped out on the upper deck, greeted by a haggard Dr. Banner and sooty-faced Steve Rogers. After affirming that they were alright, no damage done, they sat down with the men, Holly at Steve's right and Hill alighting in the single chair of the grouping. A cardboard box lay on the coffee table between them, pizza split among those remaining at the Tower. Holly, drifting in a fog, grabbed a slice, chewing numbly as she pondered everything that had happened. The day had started so calmly in comparison to the explosive—every pun intended—turn that it took upon night descending. The who and the why of it all remained elusive, the how hovering beyond her grasp. The unsettling nature of it all bothered her, and she could only imagine how much irritated the people she was with, members of a response team that were no longer allowed to respond, if what Maria was saying was right. The mulish set of Steve's jaw confirmed it, and she decided it would be best not to push it.

Several minutes passed, in which she simply ate and thought. A shoulder bumped into hers, taking her out of her own head. Glancing around, she noticed that Maria and the doctor were conversing in low tones, focus away from the room. Steve gave a wry look as he leaned closer to her, a washcloth in hand.

"Still like New York City after this?" he asked, earning a chuckle for his efforts. Scrubbing at his face, he nearly got it cleared, save for a bit at the curve of his jaw. Tutting a little under her breath, Holly took it from him, tilting his chin with her free hand and dabbing at the spot of dirt he missed.

"The non-exploding parts are pretty alright," she replied, a corner of her mouth lifting as she finished her task. Tossing the rag away, her gaze connected with his, weary brown and exhausted blue. She sighed, the little tiff they'd had resurfacing in her mind, her grin drooping. "You want to have that argument now, or hold off until morning?"

He considered the question, looking down at his hands. A few cuts decorated them from where he helped someone away from shrapnel or broken glass, but Bruce had helped treat them in the medical bay earlier, bandages covering them.

Arriving at a decision, he lifted an eyebrow. "I'll wake you up for it at six. You know, when you're liable to be at your feistiest."

Her eyes narrowed, even as she barked out a laugh. It was a threat he was unlikely to follow through on, and she knew it. The little quarrel was not entirely put aside, but they wouldn't lose sleep over it. Thumping him on the arm, she sank back into the cushions, snorting softly to herself.

"Love you, too."

An arm curled around her shoulders, a peck planted on her forehead as Steve drew her into his embrace.

"Very much."

 **xXxXxXx**

The manhole cover slid away, the yellow glow of the streetlamps providing little illumination. Gloved hands gripped the rim, tensing as the man hauled himself out. Smears of dirt, dust, and other matter blended into his black attire, no worse for the wear despite his underground travels. His mask, blotted with sweat from his exertions slid up a fraction, exposing more of his nose. Carefully he adjusted it, tilting his chin one way and then another. Cars honked, sirens wailed to his left. He went the opposite direction, away from the devastation that had been wrought earlier in the night. Away from the nightmares that would inevitably follow him. The threat, the voice...the name.

Suddenly, he paused in his tracks, head cocked to the left. The shadows of the alley had deepened, the fire of the world reflecting in his mind. Slight build, shorter than him...the scent of the air gave her away as female. The aggressiveness of her step gave her away as dangerous. A whiff of coconut, hinted with orchid. She'd tossed her hair. Unbeknownst to him, it mimicked the flames within, deep red in the low light.

"I know you're there," he murmured, on guard for her next move. A sharp breath came, and the nearly silent taps of her feet stopped.

"Good. You were supposed to know," she crowed, her tone almost musical as she spoke. Her weight shifted onto her back foot, not quite defensive, not at rest. "If I wanted to sneak up on you, I would have. Did it to a god once."

A little nonplussed by that statement, the man in the mask smirked a little. "Well, I'm not exactly a god, am I?"

A new voice joined in, deeper, more masculine. "No, I'd say you're slightly different."

Carefully he pivoted on the spot, facing the weak glow behind him. She, whoever she was, was not alone. The wreathed flame of her body was joined by another. Taller, build similar to his own; a man. A deep intake of breath, preparing himself to speak. A forearm cutting through the space, a gesture that spoke of neither evil or good intent. He braced himself, ready for attack.

"Who are you?"

"People. People just like you," the man said, his tone measured and calm, a hint of humor lacing the words. The man in the mask was still, not responding outwardly. Inside, his already frayed nerves burned.

"I doubt that."

"You're not the only person seeking justice and right in the world," the woman intoned, every word striking him hard. "And you're not the only one who knows that things are going wrong around here."

Understatement, he grumbled inwardly. Still, he could hear the sincerity in her voice, knew that whatever else she said, she believed that she understood his cause. Whoever this pair was, they were more than mere 'people.'

"We know what you're doing, pal. Your mission isn't so very different from ours. However, doing it alone up until this point has been your choice," the man told him, coming closer. He heard a shuffle, the breath of air alerting him to the fellow raising his arm. A gesture of good faith. This was their offer, perhaps their only one. "It doesn't have to be."

He remained silent, motionless. Undisturbed, the other man backed away, the scrape of boots on the concrete giving him away as he moved.

"We'll be in touch," the man said, his parting words inflected so that he could not be taken as flippant or uncaring. The woman hesitated a few moments, and he turned his head towards her. Had he the ability to see, he would know how hard and unrelenting her gaze was, the icy blue freezing. As such, it was lost on him.

Instead, he felt the chill in her last words to him.

"Watch yourself."

The man in the mask's mouth twisted as the man and woman faded, swallowed back into the darkness. He wondered if they appreciated the irony of their statements, if either knew that their foreboding speeches was not the first he'd heard that night. Neither were foes, he surmised, but whether they would prove to be friends would be left up to the future.

For the moment, he just had to tend to the present, survive another night.

* * *

 **A/N:**...Yep, _Daredevil_ , my homies!

A merry Christmas Eve chapter for you all! I may have fudged a little of what happened in the Marvel universe as far as the explosions in Hell's Kitchen, making one fire off prematurely, but in essence, the events of the end of episodes 5 and 6 remain as they are in canon.

I own nothing of the MCU, including characters and plot points of _Daredevil_ , and other mentioned things not owned by me, the author.

Things might shift gears a little for the next chapter, possibly. Just a forewarning if it's not as explosive as this one. Ah, jokes for days! (Notice I didn't say they were good ones.)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	6. Chapter 6

That Thursday morning late in March had dawned slightly cloudy, but that was just fine. Sam Wilson liked those days, when the spring mornings were cool and shaded, his run refreshing and renewing as he lapped the reflecting pool, or down the familiar streets of his neighborhood. It was promising, as the light filtered through the glass and he rose, swapping his sleepwear for shorts and a clean shirt. Plenty of time before his afternoon meetings to get a couple miles in. First things first, though, he had to confirm something. Looking out the window, Sam smirked to himself. Having heard the arrival late last night, he had wanted to make sure his guess was on the mark, and he was satisfied that he knew precisely whose bike it was that was parked in his driveway. Early though it was, he knew that the owner of the motorcycle would be up as well, most likely stationed at the kitchen table having had first crack at the coffee. Good thing he'd already gone to the store a couple days ago to stock up on necessities; his erstwhile roommate had returned.

After throwing on a sweatshirt, he made his way downstairs. The trip down the hallway was short, and when he glanced up from his shuffling feet, he cracked a true grin. Steve was there, exactly where he predicted he'd be. Sweats and a t-shirt were his attire, preparation for later. He raised a mug in Sam's direction, his free hand gesturing to a box of doughnuts that sat open on the table (had to have been bought on his trip down from the city).

"Sam," he greeted his friend, setting down his coffee to come around to him. Shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder, Sam moved off to assemble his coffee.

"Hey man, it's been a minute," he said. It had been over a month since he's seen Steve properly. Between the captain's missions, his own work at the VA, and ongoing personal endeavors, they hadn't had much time to catch up. Sloshing coffee and milk into his cup, he took a seat opposite Steve, grabbing a doughnut while he was at it. Taking a big bite, he asked between chewing, "Things going good?"

Steve nodded, shrugging a shoulder. "Been busy, for the most part. Things are pretty good. And yourself?"

"It's alright. Been fairly quiet around here," Sam replied, gesturing to the house with his mug. In truth, it seemed that most of the DC metro had quieted down significantly with Captain America's increased absences. Or perhaps he just beginning to know how placid his life had become since his discharge until he'd met the captain, now that it was settling again.

"How're things going at the VA? Still counseling?"

Sam chuckled then, shaking his head at the earnest questions. "It hasn't been that long since you've seen me. Yeah, they still have me working with readjusting vets. Got a few new faces, new sets of baggage."

Steve shot him a wry grin. "Suitcases or man purses?"

The paraphrased words made Sam shoot him a knowing look, though he'd maintained his grin. Taking another sip of the brew, he said, "A little bit of both, depending on who you talk to. New person at the front desk is settled now."

Silence descended briefly, as his mind turned to the previous receptionist. He'd dated Tori for eight months, after the helicarrier disaster, and though it had been roughly twelve and a half weeks since their break-up, there were a few sharp pangs every now and again when he thought of her. To see her place filled, first by a couple of temps and now permanently, just drove home the fact that she really was gone, off California dreaming while he was still out East.

Whatever. He was counseling, helping others cope with their guilt and their trauma. He ran, he went out, watched football and had other worries and concerns in his life. It was alright. It would still be alright, no matter what.

For his part, Steve barely winced at the forced reminder of his friend's separation. Determinedly, he gulped down some coffee from his own mug, murmuring, "Good to know. Is she nice, cute?"

Sam snickered, shook his head. " _He_ is alright, and not as impressed by my associations as the last one was."

"Or he could be," his friend responded ever-so-helpfully, an eyebrow raised and a finger wagging at him. "You don't know for sure."

There wasn't much to say to that, so he just tapped along the side of his cup, shrugging. "Fair point."

The expression on Steve's face slid away from levity, seriousness taking over. "And the other stuff?"

Sam's dark eyes cut away then, knowing the question would be coming. However, he knew that Steve wasn't going to be overjoyed with the answer he had. Bucky Barnes had remained elusive since September, one or two blips on the radar allowing them to know he was still alive. Still, that was about all he could assume.

"Haven't heard a thing on the communicator. I think he's shut it off," he confessed, speculating. The ex-assassin was on the road to recovery, to figuring out his own place, and besides a well wish at Christmastime, he was set on doing it on his own. The Stark-built communicator provided to him was silent since that day, and he didn't have high hopes that would change any time soon. "Or broke it. Either way, we're back to radio silence and having no clue where he is."

The corners of Steve's mouth turned down, the blue of his eyes turning stormy. No, he definitely didn't like the answer. "Anything cropping up in missing persons, by any chance? Just in case."

"Nothing yet," Sam responded. "I'll keep an eye on things."

"Thanks. I'm trying to do the same, but…"

"Juggling too many things at once? Not surprised," Wilson remarked, leaning forward in his seat, crossing his arms on the tabletop. "I can take lead on this. You've got enough on your plate. Protecting the world and all that."

"Supposedly," Steve muttered, inclining his head in acceptance of the offer. If Sam was willing to keeping an eye and ear out for Bucky when he couldn't, far be it from him to say no. It irked him to have to take a back seat in regards to the entire situation, but for the time being, he would have to accept it. Besides, nothing would happen until his long-lost friend decided to reappear. Deep down, his gut was telling him that it wouldn't be forever, and until then, there were other pressing occurrences.

And speaking of such, Sam's eyebrows rose, his voice pitching lower. "Got anything to tell as far as all that stuff in New York? My mom thinks it has to do with a gang war, but it all sounds so weird."

Given that his mother also resided several miles north in Harlem, she was a little removed from the truth. However, he knew the captain would have a better idea, if not a resource to raw on to get more of a clue as to what was going on.

"Fishy, you mean. It's all so fishy," his friend corrected him. He snorted, rolling his eyes as he considered everything that happened in the last couple of weeks. "Not like they're giving us anything, either; the authorities are determined to keep us out of the situation until it reaches crisis proportions."

Sam's brow furrowed, suspicious of that. "Didn't several bombs go off in one night? How is that not a crisis?"

Steve gave him a deadpan look. "You tell me. There's nothing any of us can do, and believe me, we've all tried."

That they had, each and every one of them having approached the police, the local government, to appeal and discover what they were keeping to themselves. The bombings were under investigation, no outside intervention from the Avengers was to considered, let alone tolerated. No persuasion from Stark, Romanoff, or Hill could persuade the ones in charge to allow them to at least understand the causes of what had happened outside of the official public reports. No matter that they had acted as first-responders; that was all they were allowed to do. It was irritating.

"Bet you're missing SHIELD right about now," Wilson cut across his train of thought. "Fury would've overridden the cops and handed it off to you guys straightaway."

"Not necessarily true. For something like this, a single agent would be sent in to infiltrate. If that person was incapable of locking it down, then a team of agents would be deployed, and only if they were totally obliterated as well, then he'd consider sending in the strike team." Off Sam's wide-eyed expression, Steve tipped his head to one side and raised a shoulder. "I worked in tandem with the man for over a year as an operative, I learned a thing or two. And for the record, I don't miss SHIELD. Not what it became."

Sam gestured at him with the remaining bite of doughnut in hand. "But the ideals it was built on had some merit?"

"Some," Steve conceded, a corner of his mouth lifting. "If you tilt your head sideways and squint."

"There were enough to keep you there."

Unable to refute the point, Steve merely sat back in his chair, sighing under his breath and saying no more. The two men continued their repast maintaining the quiet. The question that Sam had delayed preyed upon his mind, and after he swallowed down the dregs of his coffee, he pushed the mug away and brought it to the fore.

"Well, what brings you back to your rented-but-barely-utilized room?"

"Hey, I use it," was Steve's objection, though his friend found his declaration to be halfhearted, at best. He wasn't having any of it, and he indicated so with a discreet roll of the eyes.

"As a storage locker. Granted, it's a very nice storage locker…"

"Kind of expensive for a storage locker," the captain said. "Pretty decently furnished for a storage locker."

"Still, point is you crashed here last night instead of across town," he interjected, knowing full well there was a bed his partner preferred to sleep in, and a woman to share it with, and it certainly wasn't at his house. "Can't be because you're desperate for my company. Not entirely, at least."

Steve's gaze shifted away to the left, not quite meeting his in that moment. "I mean, if it's an inconvenience..."

"Shut up, man; not what I meant. I'm just curious. You've got that...planning look on your face," Sam said, mock-squinting and staring at the studious set of his friend's expression. He'd seen enough times to know when the captain looked like that, something was about to go down. "Are you going to mount an offensive against a massive terrorist infiltration?"

The other fellow smiled, a tenseness coming around him then. "Not this time. But you are right; I've got something in mind, something I can't really do with Holly around."

"She'd be gone at work most of the time."

"I'm not taking any chances," he responded, a flutter of nervousness appearing in his irises. Flicking his fingers in a you'd-better-tell-me gesture, Sam waited for an explanation. Little by little, as it came forth, he dropped the teasing aspect of his demeanor. Rather, it was replaced with surprise, and genuine good feeling on his part.

"Do you need any help? I mean, I could fly with a banner attached to me," he offered, the news still being digested. Perhaps he could be of some service in a way. Distractions were always welcome to him, even if it meant he might have to make an ass out of himself to do so. "It would save you the money on a biplane."

Laughing, Steve shook his head, some of the nerves dissipating for the moment. "I'll keep it in mind. I just need a base of operations for a little while. And for you not to spill the beans."

"You can count on me, Cap." Saluting his partner, Sam got up from the table, hooking a thumb towards the door and grabbing up his keys. "Well, that's enough gossiping like a grandma for one day. I'm gonna get some laps in on the Mall, if you want to come along."

Dipping his chin, the captain got up and set his cup in the sink, heading in the direction of his room to get his shoes. "Sure, if you think you can keep up."

The promise of retribution was in Sam's gaze as he moved away, and he called out, "We'll see, old man."

 **xXxXxXx**

That night, Steve had stationed himself at his old desk. The day had been spent tidying the space, and going to the actual storage locker he had rented upon moving to the city. Rifling through it for a long while, he was able to find what he needed, relief coursing through him. Once he'd finished there, he'd returned to Sam's house, planning and checking in at the Tower while he waited for the right time to make the call. Pulling his laptop out of his bag (left in there overnight as he'd gotten back to D.C. far too late and was far too exhausted to unpack at the time), he opened it up, clicking slowly through until he initiated the proper program. As he selected the correct name, he rested his hands in his lap, folding them together and pressing them hard against each other to stop the minor tremors.

Soon enough, the camera on the other end of the connection opened, revealing the person seated before it. Dark brown eyes creased at the corners as the fellow grinned slightly, a hand raking through his hair, more salt added to the pepper in the last few months. Holly's father looked a bit tired, a bit more careworn, but he seemed pleased to be speaking to Steve face to face—digitally, at least.

"Hello, Steven," Paul greeted him, a superfluous wave of the hand following that. He leaned back in the desk chair, plaid shirt wrinkling as he did so. Steve tried to keep his face tranquil as he looked him in the eye, gave him a short nod.

"Hello."

"Sorry about being so spotty on getting back to you. Been a crazy couple of weeks," Paul murmured, shaking his head at himself for letting the time slip by so easily. Dipping his chin, he continued, "For both of us, I understand."

A corner of Steve's mouth raised. "Something like that."

"Though yours had less to do with an incompetent plumber and burst pipes, I bet," the other fellow hinted, a dark glitter in his gaze similar to the one his daughter had when she knew more than she was letting on. He certainly knew that the woes of a contractor were in no way on the same level as an elite task force's, and he wasn't afraid of the comparisons. Snorting, Steve shook his head.

"Definitely not."

For a short time, the two men went over the original intent of Steve first call a couple weeks back. As part of his Christmas gift to the family, he had extended an invitation out at any point in the coming year to see their girl, as Holly herself had indicated that circumstances had prevented them from coming out east very often. He just wanted to get an idea of the dates they were considering, as it would be on his dime. Paul speculated that early summer would be the best bet, but a firm date would have to wait for a little while longer. The conversation went sideways back towards work, with Steve giving a few details of what had been going in New York (reassuring him that Holly had been nowhere near the blast zones of the bombed buildings—mostly true, which allowed him to get away with the partial fib) and Paul describing his recent nightmare of a housing project.

For Steve, in the back of his mind, it was oddly comforting, being able to maintain a level of civility and friendliness with his girl's father. Having never grown up with one himself, he only had secondhand experience, the dual images of Mr. Barnes and Paul forming in his mind when he pictured the figure, in his time the head of the family, the cornerstone for all to rest on. A good man, who could recognize the best in others. He hoped that Paul could see the best in him, if not for his sake, then for Holly's.

It would make everything that much easier in the long run.

As Paul was preparing to sign off, Steve drew himself out of his musings to stop him. His gut tightened, and he fought to keep his breathing under control as he spoke.

"Before...before you go. I have another question, sir."

Paul chuckled under his breath, tilting his head back for a second or two. "Oh, we're back to 'sir', huh? Makes me think you might have done something wrong."

Pink tinged his cheekbones as Steve shook his head, hands clenched tightly together in his lap. "N-no, Paul. I haven't."

Noting the earnestness in the fellow's gaze, Paul gave him an encouraging grin as he sat up straight, arms crossing over his chest and his shoulders relaxing. Whatever Steven wanted to ask about, he was all ears. The poor guy didn't need to have his chain jerked around, not when he appeared to be seeking his input.

"Well, go ahead, son," he said, taking a slight, perverse delight in referring to him in such a manner, as technically the young man before him was a senior by a few decades. By degrees, the delight had changed course, and his eyes had gone wide as Steve dug down into his deep well of courage and pursued his inquiry.

When Lisa Martin crossed in front of the open office door a few minutes after the call ended, she glanced in at her husband and paused in her steps. The computer face before him showed the desktop background, a photo of their three grown children along with their eldest granddaughter taken a few years ago. Arm in arm, the frozen faces smiled up at the patriarch of their family, his gaze riveted to them. Setting down the laundry basket she was toting, she stepped into the room, the stillness in her husband's form drawing her in. Laying a hand on his shoulder, her bright eyes stared down at his profile, noting the rawness in his dark gaze even off to the side.

"Paul?"

Carefully, he turned, responding to his name. Looking up at his wife, he felt something in his heart swell and crack. His smile was tremulous, but his voice was calm when he finally spoke to her. Pride and warmth dominated his tone, the wealth of emotion spreading between them in an instant as he shared with her.

 **xXxXxXx**

The click of her heels rang in the empty hall, the midnight blackness broken by a few lights positioned along the walls. Her hood was drawn up, a small pack attached to her back as she attached her gauntlets. If she wanted to get across the ocean in time, she would have to be stowed away and gone in no less than two hours. If she hurried, she could make it.

"Nat, where are you going?" a voice called out, though she did not halt in her tracks. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Clint striding fast behind her, trying to catch her before she got too far. Delay was not on the cards for her today; she would not let him stop her.

"Going to go check out something," Natasha responded, fast and certain. "I'll be gone for a few days."

The African insurgents were multiplying at an alarming rate, and the recovered reconnaissance she had pilfered was...disturbing. An army was being sheltered across the ocean, an army unaffiliated with any of the continent's countries. After Hill's review of the photos she'd forwarded, she could see not only unmarked tanks and trucks, but the weapons had a distinct quality to them, something she'd only ever seen once, locked in the bowels of the helicarrier, delivered at the hands of a liar and an enemy. An intercepted message had been sent secretly to the Avengers, about members of the assembling militia that they were to proceed with the orders from the top, the whispered salute making her blood run cold as she read it. She needed to get closer, know beyond a measurable doubt, and she could do that best when she was alone.

No team, no organization: it had to be just her.

"Where are you going? What's going on?" Clint demanded, grabbing her arm before she get too far. Pressing a hand to his shoulder, she did not dig in to make him release her. Rather, she increased pressure to emphasize her point.

"I'm gonna need you to trust me. It could be nothing, or it could be something."

"Something bad?" It was a question, but he had his answer purely from the purposeful look on Natasha's face. It was one he knew all too well, one he had seen on many missions past, and he understood her resoluteness. Taking her hint, he clasped her shoulder in return, holding her gaze. "If things go wrong—"

"I'll call." Her lips curved upward. It was an exchanged that may have varied in tone and exacting wording over the last thirteen years that she'd known him, but at heart, it had remained the same. Barton was her truest and dearest friend, one of the few people in the world who knew everything about her. Not just the bare facts, but the hard, darkest truths of her soul. They had learned to work together, depend upon each other. And when danger fell, the Black Widow would call and Hawkeye would answer.

Danger was about to fall, she knew. But for now, she needed to wait on seeking help. Barton could see it, and drew her in for a swift hug before he let her go, his stomach clenching as she walked away.

"Be careful, Natasha," he told her, her head inclining a bare fraction before she got onto the elevator, disappearing into the shadows again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Y'all...holidays. What can I tell ya? Sorry that the chapter was a little late; most of my time has been spent here, there, and over yonder doing Christmas stuff/New Year's stuff/having a few days off to do nothing but play video games. I got a PS4 for Christmas. Yay adulthood. :)

Anyway, I told you guys this chapter was going to be a little more lowkey than the last, and it's a bit shorter than the last one (although that one was much longer than I intended it to be, haha). And Holly it seems has also taken a break, but she'll be back. Also, Sam has jumped in! Yay Sam!

I own nothing from the MCU. Also, next chapter might be a little late again, as I will be working a lot of shifts next week (three jobs, what can ya do?), but I'll try to post as soon as I can.

Happy 2016, everybody!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	7. Chapter 7

Friday morning, and she had woken alone in her bed. Not that it wasn't common; Holly had come to find out that Steve, no matter how harrowing a prior mission had been, was a habitual early riser. Still, she had the hope that it would be one of those mornings where he'd curled up around her, or had returned to the room to draw in his sketchpad or read one of her books. It was a habit he'd gotten into on and off since they'd gotten together, since after he resumed his work as an Avenger. He liked to be near her in the quiet moments, in the time they had together when he was off duty. Yawning, she stretched, a full body stretch that made her curl her toes and arch her back briefly before sinking back into the mattress. Pushing off the covers, she blindly reached out towards the nightstand, grabbing up the hair binder there and tying back her hair. It was a wavy mess, to her mind, and it needed to be tamed for the moment. Her sleep pants, having been abandoned on the floor the night before, were slipped back on with ease, and she stumbled out of the room, rubbing at her eyes and cursing herself for even considering getting out of her warm cocoon at that hour. Even so, when she went through the kitchen arch to get her coffee, stray movement in the room beyond caught her attention, and she detoured from the caffeine to look.

Leaning against the wall, she couldn't help the silent snort of amusement as she crossed her arms over her chest. The table and chairs had been pushed against the far wall, the rest of the dining space appropriated for Steve's use. Some drop cloth had been spread on the floor, ready to catch errant spills, the travel easel she'd gotten him for Christmas set up and paint tubes scattered in the extended drawer. He had a pencil tucked behind one ear, a brush in his right hand easing some green onto the canvas. A rag was tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, supposedly to fix errors or clean up a spill on himself, though judging by the smears of blue and yellow on his face and red on his white t-shirt, he hadn't used it too much for that purpose. Dipping into the green again, he seemed to think better of it, instead swirling his brush in the cup of water settled in the drawer as well. The supplies had been hauled into her apartment weeks ago (more and more of his things were finding places to rest in her home, which she was not wholly opposed to at all), and Steve would set them up every once in a while, occupying himself with a new art project if she was otherwise engaged. Evidently, he had been struck with some early morning inspiration. Again, not something uncommon with him.

However, the way he was determinedly not meeting her gaze, the way he held himself in her presence over the last couple of days, had her on guard. His demeanor was off, though he remained just as affectionate of her as ever. In fact, when he finally broke his cover at Sam's and came over to her place, he was very demonstrative of his feelings towards her. But something nagged in her mind. And she'd given him a grace period…for the night.

Spying her out the corner of his eye, Steve's expression brightened, though he didn't stop working. "What?"

"Something's going on," Holly stated bluntly. It grated even on her ears. Still, her suspicions rested on her, and she wanted to figure out what was up.

"Yes," Steve conceded, his side-along glance taking on a cheeky air. "Painting is what's going on."

Stepping fully into the room, she examined the picture he was working on. It wasn't fully discernible at the moment, but the colors were warm, bringing a vague sense of comfort and home to mind as she looked at them melding together.

"Nice," she murmured, resisting the urge to reach out and touch. That was a mistake she did not want to repeat; never mess with a work-in-progress Rogers piece. Giving him a pointed look, she continued, "You know you haven't convinced me at all."

He concentrated on smearing a dab of blue across his canvas then, but it was impossible to miss the smirk on his lips. "I'm aware."

She sighed deeply. It was one of those things again, most likely an operation of importance that would consume him, and that he would be able to share scant details of. It was a burden he shouldered without complaint, but she wished that he could talk about them with her. Security she understood, but sometimes she wished she could be told what was going on before he'd finished with the tasks set to him as Captain America for peace of mind, if nothing else.

"So what should I file this secret under? Can't tell or won't tell?"

"It's actually not like that at all," Steve corrected her gently. Her mocking scoff made him look away from his painting, his brush set aside and his gaze wide with earnestness. "No, really, it's not. You…I can tell you about it."

The sincerity in his voice, in his face, quelled the sudden flutters in her stomach, turned her curiosity up. Her dark gaze raked over him, as if she would be able to plumb out what was going on that way. Failing that, she just took in her fill of looking at him, accepting his word as truth.

"Okay…so when can you tell me?" she asked, her eyebrows inclining slightly. He glanced up at the ceiling, as if considering his answer.

"Later," he pronounced after a few moments, nodding once for effect. "After I take you out to dinner."

She wrinkled her nose, poking him in the side and making him gasp as she hit a ticklish spot. "Tease."

Her onslaught didn't abate, and he had to trap her hands between them, gripping them hard against his chest and drawing her in closer. Uncaring of the transfer of paint, he released her wrists, looping his arms around her waist and bringing her flush against him.

"Scram, or you're gonna be late for work." Steve attempted to sound stern, to get her distracted, but he couldn't quite make it sound genuine. Having her in his arms, so close, was something he ached for, deep down, when they were apart, and he didn't like having to deny that closeness.

Holly shrugged, waggling her eyebrows at him as she raised herself onto her toes, lips nearly on the same level as his. "It would be worth it, I bet."

"Maybe…" he whispered, the corners of his mouth turning up before accepting her kiss. The innocence of it melted away after a few seconds, becoming deeper and harder as it went on. Perhaps her work could wait…no, no…he had to try and stay strong. Soon enough, he broke off the embrace, leaning his forehead against hers briefly, another buss against her lips tempting him before he gave a little nod towards the bathroom. "Go on."

Rolling her eyes, Holly turned to go, squealing a little when he gave her a swat on the bottom to get moving. Within twenty minutes, she was dressed and pressing a farewell kiss on his cheek, avoiding the leftover paint, and out the door. As the lock clicked firmly into place, Steve glanced at the wooden panels, letting out a few deep breaths. Gathering up his cup of dirty water, he strode away from the easel, crossing the apartment to the bathroom to rinse it out and wash his hands. When he'd finished with both tasks, he found himself clutching the bowl of the sink, staring into the mirror without seeing. The paint splotches on his brow, along his jaw and face, were ignored as he fought for control over his nerves. Holly didn't know it, but he'd come very close to losing his composure, so close to just spoiling his own plans and just doing it right there.

No, no. He wanted to do this the right way, not half-baked and in the moment.

Shutting off the water, he dried his hands and meandering into the bedroom, pulling open the dresser drawer that had been designated as his for a few months now. Reaching in amidst the folded shirts and trousers, he removed a small velvet bag. A box would be more traditional, but it was less discreet when tucked into pants pockets and smuggled between places. It was a cheap thing purchased in a pack of twelve from a chain store (the rest packed away at Sam's house in his old closet, not to be found again for months); however, the contents of the bag were nothing of the sort. Circling the lump inside of the pouch with his thumb, a tiny grin bloomed on his lips.

Tonight, Steve concluded, placing the bag decisively on top of the dresser before hunting for clothes to change into after he showered. No more stalling.

 **xXxXxXx**

Breaking the lock on an old storage room, Natasha slipped in, shutting the door swiftly and pushing an old shelving unit in front as a barricade. She only had a few moments, and she had to make them count. Being noticed by the guards on duty was one thing, having them actively chase her through the enemy base was another.

Having arrived in Africa a mere day previously, she took a slight detour, temporary dye filched and disguising her vibrant red locks with dull brown, sunglasses and plain clothes obscuring her. She followed the projected path of the overflowing insurgents to the Sudan after that, mixing in among their number as a recruit. She'd always had a talent of blending in, and her affinity for languages helped cement her place. Loaded into open jeeps, she was sped across the landscape, speaking little to the fellow around her but hearing everything. They spoke of a camp, led by a doctor. They murmured the rumors of how the camp would become the center of a great war, one to finally take down the final menace to their power: the Avengers. Upon arrival, she'd taken out two of the officers stationed at southern entrance, taking advantage of their incapacitation by slipping into one of their uniforms and lifting their access passes into the base. Once inside, she was a little stunned at what she found.

It was no mere band of insurgents answering a rebellious call. An army was being fostered in the desolate place, a true-blue army. And every last one of them was bearing HYDRA insignia. Tanks, weaponry that matched her reconnaissance photos and schematics, all enhanced, glowing blue as if powered by an alternate source. Nat had frowned deeply at the time; she could just guess what that alternate source was. Unfortunately, Loki's scepter had not pinged on her personal radar tracker. It was elsewhere in the world. Still, there was no denying that the very operations before her eyes had been subjected to the force of the extraterrestrial scepter.

And their head, at least the person in charge when Strucker wasn't around, was not a woman to mess with. Having only observed her from a distance, Natasha was of the opinion that she was severe, cunning, and clever. After all, most of the new weapon designs, though powered by the scepter, had borne her hallmark and were of her construction. _Ärztin_ , they whispered when she made her appearance in the looming factory. From the shadows, she stared at the woman as she toured the facilities, examining the wares for any defects as she went by. Mid-thirties, blunt cut hair the color of dirt, body and face angular and black eyes that were permanently narrowed. It was if, even at this moment, with all this manpower and focus at her fingertips, she could not find one thing to really be pleased with. A suitable stand-in for the baron if there ever was one, Natasha mused gloomily at the time.

There was little she could glean about this doctor, save for the fact that she too had once been on SHIELD's payroll, another soul who had disappeared after the Battle of New York along with the scepter. Finding a nearly abandoned office, she hacked into the system files (with JARVIS's aid, naturally; all files were backed up on her own personal drive that had traveled with her overseas) to discover more. Jensen, the only name supplied for the doctor, had sufficiently destroyed her SHIELD records, it seemed. Still, that wasn't to say that HYDRA wasn't more studious about her background. Graduated with top honors, employed out of school with SHIELD right away ten years ago, she had worked tirelessly for the efforts of HYDRA since then, subverting the enemy while aiding them at the same time. Rising through the ranks quickly, it appeared that she was only a few rungs below Strucker or Dr. List in power. She could and most likely would prove dangerous, if she ever managed to deploy her army. It appeared, to the Black Widow's eyes, that they were waiting for the precise moment.

And with the sudden arrival of multiple mercenaries in the room as she prepared to leave, Natasha had a sinking feeling in her gut that she had handed them the opportunity on a silver platter (she knew she'd hacked into the server for too long, but she had to know what was going on). Flying from one assailant to the next, the men fell at her feet in a blur, falling to her concealed bracers and Widow's Bite as well as her kicks and jabs. Her ferocious stand had not stopped them entirely, her cover completely blown as an alarm sounded in the distance.

In the temporary shelter of the storage room, she pressed back against the rickety shelving unit, tapping hard at the com link perched in her ear. Taking out her USB, she hurriedly plugged it into her bracer, ripping away the sleeve of her stolen uniform as she did so.

"JARVIS, forward these coordinates and photo files to HQ, send an alert to the team," she commanded, hard thumps against the door rocking the shelves into her. Quickly, she scanned her surroundings, finding an air vent along the far wall. It could be big enough for her to crawl through. "Tell Clint: it's bad. They've got to come. Immediately."

"Yes, ma'am," JARVIS replied, everything fired off at lightning speed. Another thump rocked her again, rough, angry voices shouting at one another mere inches behind her. Taking her chances, Natasha sprang away, climbing another shelving unit to the vent, managing to wrench it open and shimmy in just before her sanctuary was breached.

The journey through the vents was dark, uncomfortable, dirty, and inevitably short. Shoving through the first opening she could find, Natasha collapsed onto the ground, groaning under her breath as she connected with hard concrete. Wincing, she got to her feet…and froze. The hall she'd stumbled into was much larger than the storage room, but it was decidedly less safe. Guns of all varieties, including alien, were trained on her person, soldiers armed to the teeth and surrounding her. A ring of blue and red pinpoints scattered across her torso and head as they kept aim. The ring of heels against stone caught her attention as they approached from behind, and when she turned to look, she couldn't say she was the least bit surprised to see who was standing there.

Doctor Jensen, all edges and brittleness in her grin, arched an eyebrow at Natasha. "And here she is. The snake in the grass. Or spider, I should say."

The doctor, Jensen, circled her. Predator and prey, with her goons closing in around them. However, Natasha was no easy capture, and she would set the record straight if that was what the HYDRA lackey thought. The smile she gave the doctor was icy, her bright eyes glimmering with cold as she adopted an aggressive stance, bracers poised and stunner disks in her palms.

"Try it," she shot back. The Black Widow was ready for them. "I've got one hell of a bite."

 **xXxXxXx**

Evening fell across Washington, D.C., and as her work day drew to a close, Holly could taste the anticipation in the air around her as she met Steve back at the apartment, with him dressed smartly and waiting on her to get changed as well. As promised, he took her out for dinner, a nicer restaurant that on a normal day she wouldn't have gone to. However, the air around Steve told her that this night was not going to be normal, even if he talked and acted as though it were. Every now and again, she caught a flash of nervousness, of anxiety, in his eyes, and she wondered about it as she ate and drank the very good wine he insisted they partake in.

As the darkness descended over the city, Steve took command of Holly's car after they finished dinner, driving through the streets and over the bridge to a wayside park they were all to familiar with. Both had not been back since September, when the brief return of his used-to-be best friend had necessitated a meet-up out there, away from the prying and judging eyes of the public.

The pair paused on the riverbank, staring across the darkened waters to the little island that once housed one of the greatest spy organizations in the world. The three-sided building no longer cut a swatch in the sky, and in the dusk, the stars that could break through the light pollution illuminated that fact. One year, and it was as if it had never existed. They both knew better, though.

"They've cleaned it up fairly well, all things considered," Holly commented quietly, dipping her chin towards the river, and the remains of the Triskelion beyond. Even if she couldn't actually see the evidence in detail, she'd been keeping an ear and eye out for news about the fallen organization. The progress that had been made was great, and there was talk of turning the remains into a museum of sorts, if the property was not given over to the FBI or CIA in the next few months. "You can hardly tell it was a multibillion dollar dump site."

Steve snorted, the sum of money she stated striking him as a little steep. Then again, he'd grown up thinking a million dollars spent on anything was an astronomical figure. "Millions, maybe, but billions?"

"If Tony had personally funded the helicarriers, I bet it would have exceeded that," she retorted. For a moment longer they stood side by side, the sounds of the water lapping at the bank offset by the distant rumble of cars. Holly shifted, stepping closer to Steve as the breeze bit into her. "Here we are again. Just like the first time. Well, minus you being unconscious, of course. And my being terrified."

"Yeah," he remarked, swallowing against the thickness in his throat. That day, there was very little good to remember about it, but what he could take away was that he exposed an evil to the world...and stumbled upon something so good, against the odds. Turning away from the waters, he guided her back towards a lighted area of the park behind them, the yellow glow of the lamps enveloping them. "Strange how fast a year goes, how much change there can be in that time."

"Very true. Strange, but good." She squeezed his hand, the smile she sported complimenting the deep feeling in her expression. "At least, in this case."

He stopped in his tracks, inhaling deeply and willing himself not to shake. "More than good. Holly, everything that's happened since…well, it's been…"

Her grasp tightened again, and he found himself taking up her other hand as well, facing her fully. Her touch anchored him, held him there as he tried to think. Everything he wanted to say, to tell her, sat on his tongue, choking him. Blowing out a puff of air, he shook his head, smirking wryly at himself.

"Funny, I can articulate any sentiment as needed preceding a battle or a mission as well as the next guy, but right now…what I feel is…"

"Overpowering?" she guessed, watching as he inclined his head slightly and shrugged a shoulder.

"Close. It's just more than I can express at any other time. That's how it is with you, has been for a long time." Clearing his throat, Steve closed his eyes briefly, trying to be calm again. "Let's see…before we'd met, I was struggling to find reasons to keep fighting, to keep putting my life on the line. I didn't have much that made me happy in this weird, new world. I functioned, but I didn't live."

Fingers stirred beneath hers, but her focus was on his face, on the words forming on his lips. Holly had to swallow hard, touched by this display of affection, by the sentiments he was trying so hard to express.

"Since you came into my life, I've been living. I've been happier than I thought I could be. Even when we snipe over the stupidest things. I didn't think it could be like this, and now that I've had it, I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose you. And I…I wanted to see, to ask—"

Her stomach dropped as he released one of her hands, slipping it into the left pocket of his pants. Mind was racing, heart was thumping, and she couldn't believe it.

 _'Oh, my God,'_ she thought, a conclusion forming in her mind right then.

Chiming interrupted him in his movements, his look of hopefulness sliding into irritation. It was mirrored on Holly's face, which she did her best to hold it back. She was failing spectacularly, but she would still try.

"Your phone," she indicated obviously, forcing her voice to take a lighter tone than she felt. Hearing his bit back groan of frustration, she waited as he now dug into the opposite pocket, retrieving the device and glancing at the caller name on the screen. Blue eyes widened slightly, and Steve sighed.

"It's Hill. She never calls unless it's an—"

"—Emergency. Go on," Holly finished, knowing the truth of his words. Carefully, she took a few steps back, allowing him space and the illusion of privacy as he answered the call. The foggy clouds of excitement fell away from her as she overheard smatterings of the conversation, her brow furrowing as she concentrated harder. Going off the hard edge in Steve's voice, she could tell it wasn't good news he was hearing.

"Hill, what is it?...When? What did Nat say?...What's the ETA? Yes, I can meet them there." He glanced at the watch on his wrist, and then shot a brief look at Holly, Adam's apple working in his throat for a moment before he spoke again. "Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Right."

Hanging up, Steve stared down at the screen, downright dumbstruck at the turn of events. Replacing his phone in his pocket, the grim set of his jaw and the determination in his eyes told Holly more than anything she eavesdropped.

"You've got to go."

"Yes." Locking his eyes on hers, his face twisted apologetically. Going back to her, he pulled her into his embrace, holding her tight for a few moments. "I'm so sorry. I mean that."

Arms nestled around his neck, she let her forehead rest against his shoulder, the leathery scent of his jacket pervading her sense.

"I know." And she did know; she could see just how upset and sorry he was about what had just happened when she stepped away. It was written all over his face, something he couldn't hide even if he wanted to.

He turned his palms up at her, a helpless gesture. "I've never really had the best luck with timing."

"It's important, though," Holly murmured, steeling herself against the screams of disappointment in her mind and heart, instead turning the focus elsewhere. "We'll just…pick this up when you come back. You will come back."

It wasn't a question, but the vulnerable dip in her voice made it sound that way. Despite that, Steve nodded, hands grasping her shoulders and lips pressing against the crown of her head.

"Absolutely." It wasn't a promise. Come hell or high water, he would come back to her. He would do what he set out to do. There wasn't a question in his mind. A few more seconds passed, her scrutinizing gaze flickering over his face. Eventually, she exhaled, her tough expression melting away.

"Okay," Holly accepted his word. Digging in her jacket pocket, she jangled her car keys as she pivoted on her heel. "Where to?"

Steve shook his head, immediate denial in his tone. "Holly—"

"Your shield's already in the backseat," she pointed out. Having it on hand at all times was a necessary evil. Even if it did loll oddly in the seat as they drove to places. It would be better just to head out, and not bother with trading over, not for her sake. "No point in driving all the way back just for your bike. It'll be fine."

"Yes, but…"

"Just get in the car, Nerfherder," she spoke over him, softening the nickname with a lopsided smirk. Not waiting for either acceptance or denial, she got into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition. A thrill of satisfaction coursed through her when he acquiesced, it disappearing when no retort about her being a princess was forthcoming. That gave her some insight to the gravity of the situation as she put the car in reverse, if the stoic expression her boyfriend had wasn't any indication. Following his directions, she cut across town, giving the car more gas now and again as they went. The uneasiness in the pit of her stomach sat heavily, the silence in the cab cementing it.

"Tell me one thing," she said as she stopped for a red light, the idling engine rumbling. Turning her head to look Steve in the eye, she asked, "What you're leaving for…how bad is it?"

The expression on his face was harsh, the streetlights cutting into the angles and highlighting the severity in his eyes.

"It's bad."

She nodded slowly, dread now settling in her gut. "I'll step on it."

Several minutes later, they were well beyond the city limits, parked in an open field. The quinjet, swathed in the darkness, had its hatch open. The team within was waiting on their leader; the Avengers had a job to do. As Steve hustled out of his seat, going around to fetch the shield, Holly got out as well, meeting him as he came around the front of the car again. Rising up on the balls of her feet, she threw her arms around him, eyelids fluttering as she tried to keep her emotions under control.

"Come home safe," she whispered into his ear, feeling his arms tighten around her for a second or two. When he pulled back, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and brushing his thumb across her cheek.

"Is that an order?" Steve asked, smirking a little as she choked on a giggle.

"You bet your ass it is." Fingers threading through his hair, she met him halfway for a swift kiss. The taste of frustration, worry, and hope was on their lips, and when they parted, it remained between them. Breathing deep, Holly could only murmur, "I love you."

"Love you, too." And with that, Steve let her go, shield in his hand and Captain America taking charge as he left. However, the glance he threw back at her gave her courage, pushed the doubt away for a moment. He would be back.

And he would ask her to marry him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey guys. I know, it's been nearly two weeks since I've uploaded a chapter. Some of the reasons why I can't really go into; a family issue caught me off-guard, amongst other things, let's put it that way. I don't mean to be cryptic, but I really don't want to go into all that right now. Consequently, I haven't felt 100% well since that happened. And I haven't actually had a break in writing for awhile. I posted over the holidays, and I just wanted to take a moment to get myself grounded and relax my mental faculties. However, I have reached the end of my self-imposed break, and I am eager to write again.

Did I really leave the chapter the way I did? Yes. Does that make me cruel? Possibly. Will it be resolved? Of course...next chapter. Also, ten bucks says that a lot of you have predicted certain things. Feel free to tell me so. :-P

 _Ärztin_ translated as "lady doctor", according to Google. Correct me if I'm wrong.

I own nothing of the MCU. Also, the events of Natasha's separate side mission belong to Marvel as well; as I don't own the comic it is referencing, I am putting my own interpretation on the spin of events. Either way, disclaimer there. Also, I don't own the _Star Wars_ references (by the way, _Force Awakens_...frigging awesome! Loved it!) The idea of Steve painting was inspired a piece of art by Obsceneblue at DeviantArt. Check it out (search for Steve Rogers, it should show up), it's one of my absolute favorite drawings of Cap.

I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. I thank you for your time and patience. Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see ya for the next one!


	8. Chapter 8

The shadow moved, lengthened as the man dodged from one precipice to the next, intent on taking down the target. Sharp eyes noted the strewn soldiers, the abandoned weaponry, the broken walls and the vantage points upon them. Hawkeye did not miss much as he ran, stringing up another arrow after tapping through the setting on his bow. The others were occupied, too occupied with their individual targets to go after the major player, but he could do it. Amidst the chaos upon the flat, dry plains, he had to keep his mind in a state of peace. It was difficult to shoot if one was seeing red…or green, in the case of his colleague. The distant roar of the Hulk barely fazed him; he was too intent on his objective.

The flight had been tensed, strategy discussed in calm, hard tones as the team made its way to Natasha's location, smack dab in the middle of Sudan. Reviewing the information she'd passed along through JARVIS, the team could conclude that HYDRA were ready to make their stand. After all the months of hiding, waiting, they were ready to come forward, reclaim their right to purge the world of the unworthy and me it their own. The forwarded modifications on the weaponry and vehicles they would be operating made even Tony's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Chitauri technology utilized and warped for another nefarious purpose, none of which was possible without the scepter's power. As their comrade had told them, it was bad.

It was time to put a stop to it.

Given the layout of the base, it was best for them to start with an aerial attack, with Stark providing additional firepower as they targeted and destroyed shield generators. The Iron Legion, primed and ready to go, joined him, JARVIS's commands directing them to contain the barrage as low to the ground as possible. With the lack of coverage from the plains surrounding them, an open assault made more sense than an attempt at subterfuge. Clint had taken control of the quinjet, sweeping it left and right to avoid the shots as they peppered the air around them. Steve and Thor clung tightly to the overhead bars, while Bruce was rocked from side to side in his seat, gripping the shoulder straps so tightly his knuckles had gone completely white.

All it took was one good shot, though, and the quinjet was spiraling down to the ground. Banking along an outcropping of rock and sand, Barton managed to hold on long enough so that it would come to a full halt. The second part of their plans was in full swing: ground assault. Bruce, still jarred from the crash landing, meekly agreed to stay behind for the time being. It wouldn't do them any good if he launched fully into a "code green" (not the most clever name for it, Stark had posited, but it got the point across) too early.

The hailstorm of bullets and bolts crashed around them as they stormed out, Captain America leading the way into the fray as Iron Man zoomed in low behind him. Rockets fluttered from his shoulders, impacting the ground and showering the combatants with dirt and pockets of fire. The hammer flew, clanging as Thor leapt against a rolling tank, swinging down hard on the barrel of the cannon and crumpling it. Clicking the sensors on his bow, Clint hit the oncoming battalion with armor-melting arrowheads, stunners taking out the foot soldiers as they made their way into the base.

They'd found Natasha in the open courtyard, commandeering a Jeep and slamming it into a group of fellows with flamethrower cannons strapped to their arms. Save for the bumps and scrapes, she'd come through her ordeal alive. When she was overwhelmed, Jensen had had her locked in her private quarters, with the intent of sending her off to Baron von Strucker. However, Natasha Romanoff never, ever took to being a hostage, and so once word had spread about the Avengers' arrival at the base, she'd enacted her own escape.

"If they'd buried me underground, they would've had a better chance," she told Barton on the fly, claiming a few of the guns off the scattered bodies and taking point as they moved forward. Fluid, as one, they worked together, slipping in and out of their enemies' grasp like water through a sieve. Lightning crackled and scorched the earth, repulsors blasted through the concrete, and the bounce of the shield ricocheting permeated the air. Bolts of energy flashed in return, but the tide was turning in the Avengers' favor when a great, green mass rumbled into the base. The Hulk was unleashed, his vengeance coming swift upon his enemies.

It was then that both he and Natasha noticed a commotion happening several yards ahead of them. Behind a barricade, they spotted a few of the bloodied foot soldiers ringing around a single person, a single woman. Her head shook violently as they pleaded with her, their wild gesticulations towards them indicating the futility of the attacks. Without another word, she pulled away, taking up a fallen soldier's armor and strapping it onto herself. Blue light gleamed along her forearms as she powered it up, the soldiers around her darting away, intent on putting as much distance between them and the battle as possible. The woman turned on her heel, facing down towards the remaining fighters, and held up her arms.

The blinding blasts of energy rained down upon them, regardless of affiliation. All had to take cover as she let Hell loose upon them. Tony attempted to make a move, though a glancing blow forced him away. Thor and Hulk tried an advance next, but she stood her ground, driving them back. The captain, having taken shelter near them, risked a glance around the overturned vehicle and frowned.

"If they lose her, they lose the fight," he noted, shifting back down and looking at the two ex-agents. Natasha nodded, seeing the sense in his words. If they forced her down, the battle would be over quickly.

"I could do it," she said, making as if to rise. Barton put a hand on her elbow, forcing her to stay in her crouch.

"She'd expect you, after everything that went down." He shook his head, tapping a finger against his chest. "I'll do it."

A moment passed in which Natasha stared at him, a protest hovering on her tongue but never voiced. He made sense, but she didn't necessarily like it. Eventually, she breathed out softly, her chin dipping down.

"I'll cover you." She darted a glance over to Steve, who inclined his head slightly and braced his shield on his arm. Clearing her throat, she amended her statement. "We'll cover you."

Putting a hand to his ear, Steve called out over the coms, "Avengers…get ready…"

At his signal, they sprang up as one, firepower and might directed upwards at the doctor. Momentarily taken aback, she returned with full force, willing her soldiers to get back into the fight as she did so. Each member soon had a ring of survivors around them, distracting them, but Clint had had the opening he'd needed to get closer. Now, as he approached, the energy blasts from her arm cannons forced him down. Jensen had spotted him outright, and she refused to let him have his chance. She tracked him as he circled her, shots chipping away at his cover as he attempted to move between them.

"You think you can stop me?! Your medieval technology cannot compare to the advanced might of HYDRA!" she shouted, all her focus bent on him. He smirked to himself; it was just as he intended. A shower of concrete dust fell on his head, and he let out a few stuttering coughs as he moved along, evading her blasts.

"You know, the villain speech isn't really necessary," he crowed, brushing the dust out of his hair. Craning his neck, he could make out her dark expression, the fire in her eyes as she tried to find him again.

"Humorous. Meanwhile, the facts remain that you are nothing compared to the rest of us." The doctor paused, pivoting on her heel and letting out another shot. The sudden smile on her lips was laced with acid. "To the rest of them. The expendable Avenger, the easiest one to lose."

The words flew true, struck him and dug into his skin. Barton, from the very first time he stepped out with the team, was unsure of his place, his confidence and surety rocked after a being driven out of his own head. Rebuilding himself was difficult, making amends to the wrongs he'd done. Mind control or not, his actions preceding the Battle of New York were reprehensible, something he felt he should have fought harder against. Fighting against the Chitauri was supposed to reaffirm his position, right his wrongs, but once he was an Avenger, he didn't know how to cope with it. The last on the team, unstable, broken. The first to throw himself headlong into danger, thinking it better to lose himself than lose the others.

"The traitor." There, she had said it, had laid his past sins on his doorstep. "You are nothing!"

Though her speech bit into him, he knew something she didn't: despite his mistakes, he was something. He was someone, he had something she didn't. He had a team, he had friends, people who knew him for what he was and what he did that still stood by him. Automatic rounds pelted the wall closest to the doctor, a flash of red and black disappearing as Jensen wheeled around and shot in the direction of the attacker. Slipping behind an outcropping directly behind her, Hawkeye pressed his fingers, the arrowhead in the quiver attaching to the shaft smoothly. Swiftly, he stood, sighting his shot and pulling the bowstring taut.

"Then this shouldn't be a problem for you," he murmured quietly, the arrow gone before he even finished his sentence. The ping of the projectile landing squarely on the fuel tank echoed in the doctor's ears, and she did not have time to even register what had happened. The explosion of the weapon rocketed her forward, driving her away and bouncing her along the ground, knocking her unconscious before she could come to a full stop. All was silent; the distant pops and shouts melted away as the seconds ticked by.

Clint, exhaling slowly and slinging his bow along his body, removed himself from his cover and jogged lightly to her side. The weapon was still flaming as she lay on the ground, still. Burn marks scorched her arms, neck, and back, dirt smeared on her face. However, the rise and fall of her chest told him she was not mortally wounded. Grimacing, he knelt beside her, taking the knife from his boot sheath and cutting away the straps of the arm cannons. Once they dropped away, Clint put away the knife, bracing himself for a moment before next opening her mouth. Taking her incisor between his thumb and forefinger, he twisted sharply and pulled it out. The pain was intense enough to rouse her, Jensen's screams echoing around him as he crumbled the cyanide capsule in his hand. She started to curl in upon herself, blood staining her lips, but Barton would not let her rest.

"I don't…I don't understand…" she whispered, her dark eyes unfocused as she was hauled to her feet and restrained. Barton pushed her forward, marched her towards the front of the destroyed base, the evidence of her failure filtering past her. She looked at it all, confused and broken. "All our power…"

"Power doesn't mean jack when you have no one to back you up," Hawkeye stated flatly. He didn't need to tell her to look around, to see what her actions had reaped. He didn't need to make her understand how many lives she'd cost in one afternoon, to know how in those last moments she'd cost herself a victory through her own hubris. It was all in front of her. He saved his speeches for the times when they would matter.

The authorities of the country were swarming around the destroyed base by that point, a NATO representative on hand for Jensen to be turned over and the remaining soldiers to be arrested. Reporters and cameras had made the trek out onto the plains, desperate to catch a glimpse of the heroes before they flew off. The roars of the Hulk drove them away for the time being, though thankfully Natasha was quick to perform a lullaby before he raged out of control again. With the quinjet out of commission, Tony had JARVIS commandeer another plane for them, the Iron Legion piloting the jet back for repairs. With belongings fetched from the hold, the team only had to wait a couple short hours before they were homebound, back in the air and recovering from the fight. Med kits were found, each treating their cuts and bruises to the best of their ability as they ascended.

"Well that went about as well as expected," Tony piped up, a washcloth in hand as he dropped down into his seat, the suit stowed away. A tumbler of whiskey was on hand, one that he drank from liberally as he leaned back. Private charters, what a lifesaver.

"Better. We shut down an army, and HYDRA's grasping at the proverbial straws now," Natasha put in, the brightness of her gaze belying the placid look on her face.

Clint snorted, casting a swift glance at her. "And all it cost was secrecy and your safety."

"Spies aren't allowed to whine about another spy's activities," Tony cut off Natasha's reply, wagging a finger at him. Barton almost glared at him, knowing that he was intentionally glossing over the point. Sure, it was likely the battle would not have been avoided in any case if she'd confided first in the team, but they could've done better damage control. They could've watched out for her.

She crossed her arms, her spine stiffening. "I did what I thought was necessary. I'm not apologizing for it."

"Nobody's asking for that. What we need is to be on the same page, all of us, from now on," Steve said, arresting everyone's attention. The authority in his tone brooked no argument. "We're a team, we need to act like it, even if we have to act separately. Compartmentalization is not what we are supposed to be about."

The significant look he shot at Natasha could not be missed, and she at least had the grace to look a little chagrined.

Thor sat forward, folding his hands as he rested his elbow on his knees. "We are far too close to achieving the ultimate victory to be turned off the path now."

Steve nodded, scratching the back of his neck, flakes of dust and dirt coming away. "For now, let's just concentrate on the task at hand. We've got things to figure out, one of which being how we can drive out the rest of HYDRA."

"And get Strucker into custody," Bruce mumbled, unfolding his body and attempting to sit up straight. The effects of the lullaby lingered, though he was recovering fast. "Having him running around is more dangerous than anything. I shudder to think what he has planned next."

The silence that followed that statement was almost deafening. The evidence against Strucker was damning, and the possibilities of what else he could do were frightening. It was soon resolved that they would go through the digital files on Strucker and his closest associate, Dr. List, back at the Tower, and try to pinpoint most likely locations for the head of the organization to reside. When they separated, Clint and Tony took up the seats closest to the on-board television, intent on watching world broadcasts and sussing out public opinion on their endeavor, the others dispersing as they saw fit.

After a long moment spent staring at the screen, the flashes of the battle driving deep into his mind, Barton sighed aloud.

"Hell of a fight," he grunted, pressing against the leather of his seat. Once out of the fray, he began to ponder everything that he had seen, and something stuck out to him. "Cap was hitting a little harder than usual today."

Tony snorted gracelessly; though Steve was not particularly vicious, it was hard to ignore that fact. The captain was aggressive during the fighting, an extra pack to his punches and his jaw clenched tighter than normal. JARVIS had reported his elevated BP before they'd even gotten into the fray, so that was a tip-off. "You think?"

Clint glanced over his shoulder, discreetly eyeing up their leader as he leaned against the bulkhead, his back to them and somewhat out of earshot. "Wonder what's up?"

Tony kept his eyes focused on the mounted television, shaking his head minutely. "I'd say trouble in that little slice of DC paradise, most likely. Judging by personal experience."

"Maybe." Barton frowned, the feeling in his gut being that Stark wasn't entirely correct in his guess. "Doesn't seem right to me, though."

"Well, you would know. Given how many girlfriends I've seen hanging around over the last few years."

The archer grinned humorlessly. "Gracie Lou might be involved, but I don't think it's necessarily something she did."

The billionaire arched an eyebrow at him, lips twisting in a questioning smirk. He merely shook his head again, sighing.

"Don't ask."

"Whatever. Either way, I'm not getting involved in that," Stark remarked, shrugging his shoulders a little. "I've got my own stuff to worry about in that regard."

Barton chuckled then. "A lot of experience there."

At the other end of the cabin, Steve closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He'd caught smatterings of what they'd said, but he wasn't about to let on that he knew. At this point, they could speculate all they wanted. He knew the truth, and he would rectify the problem the moment he got stateside, when he got back home. Thor came out from beyond the kitchen area, having chosen to explore the new craft he was in for a while. Noticing the pile of clothes on the counter, he picked them up, a questioning glint in his eye.

"Friend Steve, are these yours?" he asked, proffering the bundle to Steve. Shaken out of his reverie, the captain nodded, a quick grin on his lips as he took them from him.

"Yeah, thanks." He'd intended to change right away, but it was too important to hash out the details of what needed to be done to do so. Now, when they had a few hours left before landing, he could do so. Shifting around the bigger fellow to find the bathroom cubicle, something from the pile dropped to the ground. The god was faster, snatching it up before Steve could do anything about it.

Thor's brow furrowed as he examined it. A blue bag, soft to the touch, a stiff object inside, he ascertained with a swipe of the thumb. "What is this?"

Reaching out for it, Steve frowned. "Nothing, Thor."

Sensing his comrade was not being entirely truthful, he smiled, holding it out of range. "I think not. Else you would not be turning that shade of red."

It was true; the captain was blushing furiously, trying his best to keep his composure as he was forced to swat for it. It was a game Thor had played many times as a child, keeping things out of Loki's reach, and he very rarely lost. Once Loki had learned to lash out properly, though, it had stopped. The commotion was beginning to draw attention, and Steve's jaw was beginning to take on a mulish set as he stood there, refusing to play along after a few moments.

"Thor...just give it back," he said, maintaining his dignity as best he could. His blue eyes were earnest, willing him to understand what he could not say, conveying how much the little bag meant to him. "It's important, please."

The sincerity in his actions compelled Thor more than anything else. Carefully, he handed it back to the captain, the relief in his face impossible to miss. Clasping a hand on his shoulder, the god gave him a gentle grin, his other hand clenched in a fist over his heart.

"Very well. I wish you joy of it, my friend." He glanced at the bag again, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Whatever it is."

Taking a shaky breath and swallowing, Steve glanced up at him once more before he turned on his heel, ready to get out of his uniform. "Thank you."

As he moved away, Thor glanced back, catching Natasha's eye. Settling her borrowed magazine in her lap, she raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

"She better say yes," she muttered, low enough so that the god barely heard her. He turned to look at her fully.

"What do you mean?"

A smile and a flick of a page was her only answer.

 **xXxXxXx**

Holly stood behind the couch, watching as Steve toyed with something and stared at the opposite wall. He'd come back to DC only a few hours before, the news of the Avengers' battle in Africa hitting the airwaves well before his arrival. She was so relieved and grateful that he'd come back safely to her, was stunned that he'd basically made only a pit stop in New York before he got on the road again. He was there, safe and sound, bruises on his body and knuckles, cuts on his arms and face, but still alive. The need for each other was undeniable when he arrived on her doorstep, sweeping her into his arms and driving them onward. Once the clouds dissipated, she found him holding her close, arms tight around her as if he were afraid to lose her in that second.

When they both rose and changed back into their clothes, she let him wander off, his intense gaze catching hers before he wandered off. Following him out into the living room, she hesitantly reach out, stroking a few fingers through his hair.

"Steve?"

He jerked his head around, attention captured. He leaned back into her touch, eyes closing briefly.

"I..." The words froze in his mouth, articulation gone in an instant. Gesturing to the open spot beside him, he waited until she was seated before taking her hand. A blue velvet pouch was transferred into it, and when she looked up at him, he merely nodded for her to open it.

Loosening the drawstrings, Holly could feel her heart thump a little harder in her chest. Turning it over, she allowed the content of it to slide into her palm. Tracing it with a finger, she turned it to face her. In simple gold, the ring formed two hands, a crowned heart clasped between them. Though it had been cleaned recently, it was clearly not a new thing. Swallowing hard, she took a shaky breath, recalling the name of this particular ring design from the back of her mind.

"A claddagh."

Steve nodded, eyes fastened on the jewelry in her hand. "My dad brought it over. It was in his family for years, and his mother wanted him to use it at the right time, when he left. No daughters to pass it on to, so it had to go to a daughter-in-law. And before my mom passed, she gave it to me. To use at the right time, to give it to..."

Buried in his personal effects, hidden away so deeply that nobody but he still knew of its existence, the ring had been recovered along with his father's Purple Heart and other such things, rescued from inquiring minds and prying historical societies. His mom would never want it on display, this treasure from her husband, from _Éire_. It was part of the family...the family that he wanted Holly to be a part of, entirely. Reaching over, he picked up the ring, taking her left hand in his, the slightest tremor racking through him.

"So, like I wanted to ask before..." He inhaled sharply, bright blue eyes locking onto her dark brown ones, hope and love maintaining him in that moment. "Will you marr—mmph!"

Hands had cupped his jaw, his mouth crushed against hers in a searing kiss. Sinking into it, he let a few seconds pass before he needed to break away, to breathe. To have an answer.

The happiness, the sheer joy in her eyes, was almost too much to take in, as well as the tears beading in her eyes. She didn't even hesitate with her answer, cutting him off before he spoke again.

"...Yes. Yes."

* * *

 **A/N:** Alright, who order all the cheese and the corn? ;) Enjoy the fluff, my friends, enjoy it.

Holy cow, it took FOREVER to write about that battle. In comic canon, Clint was a major factor in it, so I did not want to take that away from him. So, there ya go: Clint's perspective. I hope I did alright with it.

I own nothing from the MCU. Any other film/television/etc. references, I don't own those either.

Claddaghs are beautiful rings; I have one myself, though I wear it more for pride in my Irish heritage than what it's actually supposed to be worn for. It can be used for engagement/wedding purposes, but it also lets people know whether you're single or taken, depending on which way you wear it and on which finger.

Also, January 19th marked a year since I started "At Day's End" and introduced Holly Martin into this corner of the universe (also made it her birthday). Happy one year!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	9. Chapter 9

The days after the engagement were much like they were before, except...the world had changed, once again. This time, though, it was Steve's choice to go through with the change. And Holly's, to accept it as well. With the time off of work, they spent as much of it together before he had to return to New York. Being close to her, he could never get enough of that, and he was happy beyond belief that one day, he wouldn't have to go without it. At least, not for very long. They shared the news with her family, though it was no surprise, given how Steve had asked her father for permission. Upon discovering the conspiracy, she laughed, saying he was more of a spy than he claimed to be. Sarah was at least genuinely shocked and surprised when she was phoned (Sam's prior knowledge was his little secret). It was new, and different, and exciting, crossing into territory that neither had been to before. And a little frightening, but when one faced down aliens and terrorists and Nazis at alternate points in life, it was easier to handle.

Thus far, they had agreed to put off some of the major planning. The date was speculated on, but that was as far as it went. Well, that, and a quick jaunt to the jeweler's to have the claddagh resized (a little too small, after all this time; Holly was barely able to squeeze it past the knuckle, and she didn't want to lose her finger in the name of her engagement once it cut off the circulation). Soon was what they had agreed on, though how soon would remain to be seen. It was enough for now that she had said yes.

And soon enough—the first of April, to be exact—Steve found himself on the road once again, a lightness in his heart and the secret no longer simmering on the back burner. All that remained was figuring out how to break the news to the team, something he'd been putting off. As much as he esteemed and respected his friends, they were such a mixed bag, the variety of reactions that could come about made him pause. Now, though, he had no excuse to continue to keep them in the dark.

He frowned to himself as he thought about it. _'Business first, when I get back. I don't need to sound like a gossiping hen out of the gate.'_

Resolved on his course, he set out to do just that once he made it back to the Tower, his bags deposited in his quarters, a meeting request forwarded to him by JARVIS. Arriving on the top floor, Steve first noticed the lounging beauty on the far couch, the rest of the team nowhere in the vicinity. Her leg was slung over the arm and her face was obscured by some magazine. A cheap rag, if he had to guess, but she seemed to be enthralled with it. Having known her for some time, Rogers could never recall Natasha being at all interested in those things.

"What are you reading?"

Lowering the magazine enough so that her baby blues peeked out over the edge, she merely exhaled theatrically. "Oh, just the latest in tabloid journalism. Some interesting things have been reported this week. Including this."

She flipped the magazine open, pointing at the article on the left page. It was of him and Holly, walking along the street only a couple of days ago. They appeared to have been laughing about something, her hand curled around his bicep as they went along. A circle had been traced around her hand, blown up in a bigger circle to reveal the blurred outline of a ring. The glaring yellow headline screamed about the idea of trading in the Liberty Bell for wedding bells, or some other such nonsense (whatever American-themed headline that could be found, they always applied it to his activities, whether it fit or not). He was not paying attention to that. Rather, he was more concerned with the fact that, as unobtrusive as her ring was, people had noticed the difference immediately. That little bubble that had formed in those few days had popped.

He sighed inwardly; well, they'd had a solid four days of privacy on the matter. That better than nothing, especially in the world of high exposure he inhabited. Steve dipped his chin once, casting another glance at the picture as he sat down on the couch opposite her. When she tossed the magazine on the table between them, he didn't pick it up.

"Of course."

Natasha studied him for a moment, her smirk transforming into a real grin. "So I was right: it's true."

There was a glimmer in his blue eyes, his half-smile spreading. "You gotta get one every so often."

If he was hoping to find surprise in her expression, he was doomed to disappointment. Instead, she had satisfaction at being accurate in her supposition and pleasure for his choices decorating her face.

"Congratulations," she enthused, rising from her seat and going to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The gesture slightly unnerved Steve. As a rule, the Black Widow was reserved, cool, distant, but every now and again Natasha would throw a curve, disrupt her image. It kept people on their toes around her, something she preferred, but having worked in close proximity to her for a long time now, he knew she was fully capable of displays of affection. She just saved them for right moments. Gingerly he reached up, patting her arm and smiling once she stepped back. Her eyes darted to the left, and when he followed her gaze, he wasn't terribly surprised to find Tony and Clint there, Thor and Bruce bring up the rear, the former pair sporting twin looks of confusion on their faces.

"What?" Barton crowed, flicking glances between the two.

"What are we congratulating?" Bruce asked, coming around and looking at Natasha curiously. She said nothing directly to him, just gave the scientist a knowing smile before squeezing Steve on the shoulder.

"I'm very happy for you," she murmured, the deliberateness of her tone inviting him to play along.

"What's going on?" Tony interjected, brow furrowing.

Steve gave her a discreet wink. "Thanks, Nat."

"I do not understand," Thor muttered, approaching Barton. Knowing the fellow would be able to shed some light on the matter in question, he flicked a few fingers in Natasha's direction and continued, "This outpouring of affection from her is strange, is it not?"

She tossed her hair, refusing to give up the game. "Don't be jealous, Thor."

Clint snorted, nodding confirmation. "Not so much strange as it is unexpected at times."

Tony spread his arms wide, face contorted in a mix of irritation and bemusement. "Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on?"

A finely shaped eyebrow quirked up questioningly. Once Steve inclined his head, Natasha cleared her throat to tell.

"Cap's gonna get hitched." Off the god's befuddled look across the room, the ex-agent elaborated. "Married. Wed."

The last word broke through, Thor's eyebrows rising as he acknowledged what she said. The others had nothing to say at that moment, though Bruce's attention was caught on the magazine flipped open on the table. When he glanced up, he caught the mirth dancing across the captain's irises, and his tiny shrug of confirmation. However, eventually one of them spoke up.

With a careful smile blooming, Stark nodded, his dark eyes rolling to the ceiling. "Oh, I get it. April Fool's. Good one."

Nonplussed by his reaction, Steve raised his chin, expression turning a mite frosty.

"Actually, it's not a joke. I asked Holly when we got back from Africa four days ago."

His protest, mild as it was, did not sway his teammate's skepticism.

"So she's going along with it?"

Steve snorted, Clint and Thor squinted at his reaction, while both the doctor and the Black Widow shot him glares with various degrees of heat in their eyes. Turning his hands palm up, he waited with his silent demand of proof.

"Figures you wouldn't believe me." Digging in his pocket, he withdrew his wallet and shuffled through it. Finding a thin piece of paper pressed in the bills, he held it out to his friend. "Here."

Taking the proffered slip, the billionaire glanced down at it. The receipt came from a jeweler's in D.C., a sizeable amount for the resizing of a woman's ring on it. The captain's signature was clear as day at the bottom, and wordlessly, Banner came around to show him the magazine photos. Tony's gaze flicked back and forth between the offered pieces of evidence, head turning comically as he did so.

"Oh, you're…you're not joking," he breathed then, glimpsing the brief flash of smug contentment settling on Steve's features.

"Even if he were pulling a fast one, I think the human lie detector here would have called him out rather than corroborate his story," Bruce observed, hooking a thumb at Nat while a gentle grin played over his lips. Proudly, she inclined her head in silent agreement of that assessment. A few more seconds of silence passed, as the truth sank in for everyone. Suddenly, Thor strode across the room, the beam on his face intensifying as he crushed Steve in a bear hug.

"Well done, friend!" he roared, letting ago after a few arm slaps and a blatant cough compelled him to do so. Deadly serious then, he queried, "I assume she comes with a grand bride price, your Holly?"

Unsure of how to answer that, the captain looked to the others, Clint and Bruce stepping in to offer their praise for his decision at a milder pace than their compatriot's. Romanoff shared a grin with Maria, who had overheard the commotion from the floor above and came down to see what had happened. When she looked back, she noticed the slightly pale cast to Stark's face, the wide set of his eyes as they blinked slowly, absorbing the information presented yet saying nothing.

"Tony, you okay?" she nearly whispered, stepping up to him and laying her hand on his shoulder. Jerked out of his reverie by her light touch, he cleared his throat, shaking his head and plastering on a smirk. However, it did not seem genuine to her eyes.

"Yeah, super. Congrats, Steve," he intoned, offering his hand to shake and letting his friend do most of the work there. Handing over the receipt and the magazine, he went on, "Tying the knot, big step, well done."

The click of heels warned of Hill's approach this time, drawing their collective attention away from the news to the brunette as she inclined her head, touchscreen in hand and a folder under her arm.

"Hate to interrupt this happy moment, but I've got some updates in regards to Strucker," she said, sharply exhaling as she tapped along the screen to retrieve some of the digital files. "Or more specifically, to the good Doctor List."

The mask of a stoic leader came over Steve then, and he gestured for her to continue. "We're all ears, Hill."

Doctor List's movements had increased since his last appearance on their radar, she reported almost blithely. Particularly as he had evacuated along with the other rats when they were jumping ship nearly a year ago. Still, sightings of him cropped up along the eastern seaboard, in a couple of places in and Europe, and Texas, oddly enough (that raised a few eyebrows). He seemed to be gathering labor, parts, anything that could be transported across borders without attracting too much unwanted attention. The last sighting put him squarely in the neighborhood of his old office; most likely he was returning for secreted documents and lab notes. Not surprisingly, he left the building empty-handed, Maria's knowing smirk stretching wide. Whatever errands he was being sent on, he seemed to be mustering up last reserves for his leader to work with. The destroyed insurgence in Africa was a bitter blow, and whatever was left of HYDRA was dwindling fast. The Avengers had accelerated events, and it seemed it would only be a short matter of time now before a final confrontation was reached.

Taking that in stride, Bruce posited that he would fine-tune the calibrations on the tracker for the scepter, see if any traces of it could clear up the trail. The others set about memorizing stolen personnel files, speculating as to Strucker's and List's true plans in regards to the human experimentation and other rumored indignities in the reports. Muttering something about repairing the engine damage to the quinjet, Tony meandering off, running a hand through his hair and sighing under his breath. The click of heels followed him down the hall, but he ignored them in favor of indulging himself in his own thoughts.

Maria hesitated for several long moments on the landing platform, giving Tony the illusion of distraction before approaching again. Knocking politely on the metal overhang before entering the quinjet, she offered him a deferential dip of the chin.

"Hey, boss."

Tony, stationed at the control panels towards the front, glanced over his shoulder at her. "You got something specifically for me?"

Neither confirming nor denying that she did, Hill decided to take the opportunity and stepped further into the hasty sanctuary. "You seemed a little shaken earlier by the marital developments."

A noncommittal shrug and a snort were all the answer she was given. Tilting her head to the left, she watched Stark's tight movements, his concentration and focus latching on to anything but her.

"Concerned that Holly's going to take Cap away from you?" she wondered facetiously, earning a mock scowl from her employer.

"Don't project your secret shipper fantasies onto me. I just..." He paused, tapping his fingers idly along the open screens. The damage reports were filing across as his touch skittered across, multiple areas demanding his attention. "…Something like this makes things a lot more obvious in your life."

Maria looked at him curiously. "Such as?"

He sighed, but still would not meet her gaze. "Certain people, and the length of time you're involved with those people without...taking a step like this."

The uncertainty in his voice was sharp, a jagged edge cutting at her without meaning to. He was pleased for Steve, really. Honestly, the Cap was just the type of guy who would gladly accept settling down, and given his years of service and devotion to his vocation, it was something he deserved to have happen. But Tony...well, comparisons would inevitably be made, and while he could bear the scrutiny of strangers, it was the scrutiny of those closest to him that set his teeth on edge. Particularly, the scrutiny of one person made him nervous.

Coughing once, his dark eyes swept up, mouth twisting in a sour grin. "Pepper's going to ask some questions after all this, and I'm not sure I have answers for her."

Maria breathed slowly out her nose, her calm gaze steadying her employer. She'd worked in tandem with Stark for nearly a year now, and while she couldn't deny his brilliance, it was also painfully obvious how skewed some of his perceptions were. That he would do whatever he could to make things come out well, she could expect. He would do it his own way, and that way didn't always mesh with the world around him. Lifting a shoulder, she waved a hand at the open air, brushing away the thick blanket of concern swallowing him.

"Well, if she asks, you better think of some answers. But then again, she might not. Marriage isn't the be-all and end-all for every woman, you know," she confessed, her veneer smooth as he threw a derisive glance at her. Hill sighed, coming closer still, reaching out to pat him gently on the arm. He accepted her butterfly comfort, rarely given and therefore precious. "Sometimes being together is enough."

Soon enough, she stepped back, all coolness and authority in her posture once again as she spoke. "That being said, I actually do have a few things to go over with you."

Realizing in that moment just exactly what she'd done, Tony's jaw dropped. "You nosy little..."

"Starting with the tech conference board," she drawled over him, pulling up a calendar on her screen, "they need an answer regarding your attendance and the opening ceremony."

Snapping his jaw shut, Tony groaned. "That's not until next year."

"That's not my problem," Maria told him succinctly, the brightness in her eyes increasing twofold. "Yea or nay?"

 **xXxXxXx**

Sitting alone in her room, she stared at the barren, cold walls. Beyond, beyond the stone and the trees, lay home. She had not seen her home in so long, and to have it just out of reach ate at her. It seemed that her manipulations had backfired, somewhat; she had hoped that with Strucker's acquiescence to move the remaining cell members to Sokovia, she and Pietro would have more freedom of movement. The place held so much sorrow, tears and brokenness, a name that was a byword for terror branded forever on her mind, but it was what she knew. Though the anger and the sadness of her memories remained, the vestiges of home had not. But with their new gifts, perhaps the darkness could be lifted. If they could just go out, be among their people...but no. They would be trapped behind the walls, for their protection, Strucker had said.

But that was not what he meant. It was for his protection. He feared what they could do, out of his grasp. They may have been green, inexperienced, but he knew they were strong. He knew they were more than he wanted them to be. And in his mind, she could see figures, six of them, and how he would be left with no choice to but to surrender to them if the Maximoffs strayed from his side. Yet at the same time, the itch to let them loose burned beneath the fear. He wanted them to frighten others, like they did him. He wanted the world to see the might of his creations, and to tremble.

Wanda dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her mother's, recovered after the dreadful days trapped in the dust and rubble. Though her family was taken away, she had these, at least, and the memories. The red aura around them was a shimmering mist, dissipating with the last of her disappointment. Inhaling deeply, she cast her focus to the ceiling for a second or two before her eyelids fluttered shut. Bitterness laced the air, and more besides.

The fear, the longing, was palpable long after the baron had left her presence, denying her quiet requests to go out firmly but for the snake of doubt deep in his eyes.

It would only be a matter of time, she knew that much. All the pain, the suffering, the horrors they had endured, they would soon be in the past. A great and terrible future was on the horizon, one that would be bent to their will. Revenge and retribution were close at hand. All she had to do was wait for the precise moment.

Soon, soon.

* * *

 **A/N:** Bit of a shorter chapter, less intense than the last one, but I still enjoyed writing it! It's been a busy week...Sorry if it was a little girly for some of your tastes, but we'll get back to the action soon enough.  
So the gang all knows...and yeah, Tony is a little leery of the whole situation. Because, whether he likes it or not, he does have a long-term girlfriend who is going wonder what's up. Oh, well. Also, the bride price thing Thor mentions? Look that up. I'm not sure what Holly's would be, but...eh, it's interesting.

Wanda, oh Wanda...just like Bucky, you like to sneak in and sneak out at the end of a chapter.

I don't own anything from the MCU.

And thanks for all your kind words in regards to well-wishing my family problems. I am glad to report that for the most part, they appear to have been resolved. I appreciate the support you guys have given me. :)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	10. Chapter 10

Meandering down to the gym floor, Holly tightened the sweatshirt around her waist with one hand, ready to get to work. The last week had been something of a pain, with new orders, nosy customers and a boss that was starting to look upon her employment as tenuous. Once the news of the engagement broke at large, the microscope on her life had pressed closer, and though it hadn't gotten out of control, she could have done without the stares and the questions being lobbed her way if she was recognized. She was starting to see the merit in the ball cap-sunglasses-sweater disguise that Steve had often donned on their outings. And as far as her boss went...Carl had to call a meeting to discuss options as far as working within and around the bookstore. Though the publicity was good; he conceded that much. Along with that, there was still no word on her submissions to the literary agents or the publishers on her book. Granted, it took those companies quite a bit of time to get back to every person who submitted their work, but as the months passed, she was starting to geel a bit discouraged. She was glad to get away, glad to escape to New York City and leave the ridiculousness outside the Tower doors for a couple of days. Being with Steve, and even around the others, helped ground her a little. Her problems were much more manageable in comparison.

Arriving first, Holly stretched out her limbs, loosening up for what she was sure would be a thorough ass-kicking at the hands of her trainer. With her baseball bat along, she took a few practice swings with it, shouldering it and letting it slide down from one arm to another. She didn't quite have it down, and given that it wasn't a required move to learn in her self-defense, that was to be expected. Adding a little flair couldn't hurt, right? As she clipped her own wrist for the third time, she was beginning to think it might not be such a good idea.

The automatic door at the far end swished open, and in strode Clint, taking a swig out of a water bottle and fluttering a few fingers at her in greeting. Grinning slightly, she put the bat down and waited for him to come up to her.

"Hey, Clint," she said, patting him on the shoulder. With all the time they spent in training bouts, he was really growing on her.

"Gracie Lou," he returned cheekily, placing the bottle on the floor and clasping her shoulder in return. "How are you?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, snorting slightly. "Did you change your name to Dr. Seuss since I last saw ya? I'm fine, thanks. And you?"

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. "All good over here. And also, congratulations, by the way."

His chin dipped down, indicating the ring on her finger. Looking down at it herself, she couldn't help the joyful expression on her face. Carefully, she twisted it around, grateful that it was no longer too tight to fit properly.

"Thanks again," she replied, the shake of her head making her pony tail bob from side to side. "Glad to have the support."

"Funny, I'd think you'd be rolling in it," Barton retorted, eyebrows lifting at her words. Holly's finger cupped the air, a flyaway gesture that did not go unnoticed.

"Depends on who you talk to. My family? Sure. You guys? Looking good, so far," she said pausing as Clint gave her an encouraging thumbs up. Fixing her gaze on the middle distance, she sighed softly. "The outer world? Now that's a mixed bag."

Knowing that her minimal privacy was just that, she had understood that being engaged to Captain America would not remain a secret for very long, if at all. And because of that, she was naturally inquisitive about how such a secret would be received. Besides, everyone had looked themselves up on the Internet at least once, she'd reasoned in the moment. Confessing that she'd gone snooping anonymously on the Web, she endured Barton's roll of the eyes in good humor. She didn't expect anything less.

"Reading the public message boards is always a bad idea," he murmured, having been exposed to his fair share of negative press in public and private alike. Especially after SHIELD went under; spending the better part of his time traversing Europe to help out Nick Fury was a godsend in that regard, as far as escaping from the backlash went. He'd kept himself too busy to care, and in certain places, that stuff really didn't matter anyway.

"I was curious. Like proverbial cat. And like the proverbial cat, I got slayed," she said, not bothering to make excuses. "I mean, for the most part, it's been received well, but damn, some people are just freakin' mean."

The look Clint gave her was so flat, so full of 'well, _duh_ ' that she couldn't even try to answer it. Still, it was something that needed repeating in her mind. The opinions had ran the gamut, and while she was glad for the little bits of positivity out there, the awful ones tended to stick around longer in memory.

Cocking his head to the right, Barton wondered, "Has Steve seen any of it?"

Holly's wince was so pronounced that he couldn't help but return it when he saw it. Oh, yes. The captain had definitely been exposed to it.

"I had to take the computer away when he read one where the person thought I'd gotten knocked up to get the ring and was a gold digging witch. With a capital B," Holly emphasized, recalling the muted fury in her fiancé's eyes and the tight set of his jaw as he scanned down the comments. At the time, she'd thought showing him might not have been the right thing to do, but living in ignorance of what was going around them wasn't an option she considered. "He cracked the casing, he was so mad. Good thing he didn't read the ones speculating on whether or not I have been a gerontophile my whole life, or if I made an exception this time. That was an interesting thread to stumble upon."

Barton pulled a face, one that Holly answered with a deadpan expression. Rolling his shoulders, he shook it off, head tilting up to look at the ceiling.

"Good Lord," he muttered, blowing out a breath. "So if we're suddenly out on a manhunt for cyber creeps, I'll know why."

Holly snickered, a hand lifted and brushing away the thought. "I think you're safe for now. HYDRA takes precedence over a couple of idiots with too much time on their hands."

"At the moment, sure. But when that ends..." Clint trailed off, the seriousness in his eyes belying the smirk on his face. "Cap might want to do something about it."

That brought a frown to her face. Given his protective streak, it wasn't unthinkable that Steve might want to give an answer to those who were leaving galling charges at their door, for her sake if not his own. She shook her head again, knowing that endeavor would not end well. And furthermore, she didn't want something to happen. It would just feed the negativity surrounding the situation, and that definitely did not need to happen. She didn't have to answer to strangers about her character, and she didn't want anyone to feel like they had to do it for her, particularly not Steve.

"It's not necessary. Tony could tell him that; look at how much crap has been slung at him over the years," she told him, jerking a thumb backward as if Stark was in the room with them. Barton chuckled under his breath at that.

"Fair point. In the end, doesn't matter what others think. Do what you gotta do, kid."

She rolled her eyes dramatically, hands spreading in a 'why me' gesture. "A few years off thirty, and I'm still called kid."

"Everyone under thirty is a kid, trust me. Just accept it and move on," Barton groused in good nature, squaring his stance and motioning for her to take her place opposite him. "And speaking of which, let's get to it."

She inclined her head, with minimal grumbling as she adjusted her stance and faced him on the mat. "Yes, sir."

 **xXxXxXx**

After self-defense training was finished, there was nothing Holly wanted more than a shower and sinking bonelessly into the couch for a night in. Having takeout with Steve beforehand, she was more than ready to get under the warm spray that evening. Letting the hot water pour over her, she let her mind go blank as she scrubbed away the sweat and mat grime. Eventually, before she could hear griping about wasting the hot water, she climbed out, towel wrapped around her body and her hair dripping as she exited the bathroom. However, the presence of two people just beyond the door pulled her up short, shocked her with their appearance. Jerking back, she caught herself on the door frame, a muted shriek cut off as she realized who was standing in front of her.

"God! What in the hell—"

Both Maria and Natasha had an air of nonchalance about them, though Natasha's eyes had a brightness to them that spoke of having a plan in mind. Coming forward, she caught Holly by the arm, guiding her towards the bedroom in the back.

"We're abducting you for the evening. Girls' night shenanigans must be had, now that there are more than two in residence for the weekend," she confided, glimpsing Maria's confirming nod over her shoulder. It was true; with the exception of Jane, who was at a conference somewhere in Italy at the moment, more women abounded in the Tower than usual, and for that the two of them were pleased. Shrugging, she went on, "Besides, we didn't give Helen a warm welcome when she first came on board; have to mend that fence."

Another excuse, but it was a well-meant one. When Doctor Cho had been essentially head-hunted a few months prior, there had been no official welcome given to her. Rather, she had gotten to work, mending wounds and collaborating with Bruce on some interesting theories about physiology and biochemistry. Rounding off with Pepper in attendance, it had given them the means to get together sans the male influences of their lives, legitimately.

"C'mon, let's get you dressed," Maria concurred, giving Holly a gentle push on her back. Propelled forward, she snorted at the pair's earnestness.

"I thought you were better at handling testosterone than this."

Natasha dipped her chin, features smoothing out."Usually, yes, but every now and again, I would like the space to act otherwise."

"Make observations about the menstrual cycle." Maria smirked when the others cast their skeptical glances at her. "That works, for the most part."

After a short pause, Romanoff exhaled sharply and arched an eyebrow. "Well, now I know why Stark avoided you like the plague a few weeks ago, Maria."

The agent-turned-assistant kept her face placid, though there was a sharp lilt in her gaze. "He crashed my day off, he should know better by now."

Getting to the bedroom, Nat cranked the door handle, the three women bustling into the room while Steve stood at the dresser. Several folded shirts were in his hand and he sported a bemused expression on his face. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his task of putting away laundry while his teammate tapped her toe. She was having none of it.

"Okay, Steve, you gotta go."

Snapping the drawer shut, Steve glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowing in curiosity.

"Would you rather I pull rank, age, or seniority on you, Romanoff?" he asked, grin spreading over his lips. Nodding to Holly and her state of undress, he continued, "What are you doing with my fiancée?"

"Girls' night preparations," was the immediate response. It was followed innocently by, "Would you like to stay and be a part of them, sir?"

One hard, long look was all it took for Steve to reach his decision. Stepping away from the dresser, he went for the door, hesitating long enough to press a kiss to Holly's temple before crossing the threshold.

"...I'll be downstairs if you need me."

"Hey, don't abandon me!" she choked out, clutching at her towel and appealing to his watchful sensibilities. Evidently he was giving those sensibilities time off. Saluting her with two fingers, he shot a smile and a wary look to her companions, not about to argue with the identical sets of determined eyes staring him down.

"Have fun, dear," he called, rounding the corner. "Love you."

Disbelief in her features, she waited until she knew he was totally out of earshot before she grumbled under her breath. Letting her go on about traitor partners and 'man with a plan, my ass', Natasha and Maria smirked to each other. The Black Widow went to the expansive closet along the opposite wall. Perusing the selection there, she tutted to herself. Though the young woman had started keeping some clothes in the quarters on the off-chance she'd forget something, she didn't have much to look over.

"Hmm...not a lot here," she said, waiting for the inevitable response. Hearing her thump heavily onto the bed next to Maria, she didn't have long to wait.

"I didn't pack for a surprise night out, shockingly enough."

Natasha shrugged again, and Maria just waved a hand at her. "Eh, we can work around that."

In a short amount of time, they were able to pull together an outfit, some of it pilfered from Maria's stores (she and Holly were closer to each other in size than Natasha was), and once her hair dried and she assembled her makeup, they nearly frogmarched her to the elevator, pocket books in hand and cheerfulness in their expressions. Holly harrumphed to herself, though it was mostly for show. She actually didn't mind the idea of going out, but she wasn't pleased to be strong-armed into it. Still, it wouldn't wholly be a bad thing, and she squared her shoulders. Pepper was at the door, speaking quietly to Helen as they waited for the party to round out. The young Asian woman held herself erect, nodding more often than actually speaking, dark hair spilling over her shoulders and her eyes fastened on her subject. Upon spotting Holly and the others, Pepper shot her a quick grin, introductions passed around as the doctor and she met for the first time. Climbing into the hired car, Holly cleared her throat, giving her best shot at breaking the ice with Helen as they pulled out into the Manhattan streets.

Doctor Cho was a brilliant physician and geneticist, and she lived up to her reputation. She wasn't frigid, but she seemed to be holding back until she was sure of the company she was with. Opening up here and there, she seemed the most excited about a medical device she had built. It had the potential to regenerate tissue at rapid rates. Initial testing had shown it to be too strong to use directly on patients, but she was confident that with the right calibrations, it could alter the medical field and change the world. Out of her depth, Holly listened attentively, asking a few questions about what materials it used and how it could bond to tissue in the hopes of illumination (and in turn answering whatever questions she could about the god in residence; Cho's eyes lit up at the subject, though she affected indifference). Before either of them knew it, they had arrived at the lounge Pepper had suggested going to, a sort of hole-in-the-wall place she'd found once years ago. The driver would be in the neighborhood, should they need anything.

On the Upper West Side, the lounge was underground, a trail of rose petals down the stairwell enchanting them. The aroma hovered around the women as they entered. Water features trickled here and there, the exposed brick walls stark and yet somehow blending with the surroundings, hearth and home surrounding them as they passed the bar. Moroccan furniture and décor spread from one end to the other, the music low enough to not inhibit the customers from conversing, but loud enough to lend to the atmosphere of cozy anonymity. Electing to station themselves at a corner table, soon enough each woman had a chair dragged over and a wine glass on hand lifted in a toast to the evening's events. Conversation ebbed and flowed, with Pepper and Holly taking the opportunity to catch up since they'd last seen one another in January. Potts was still in charge of the largest tech conglomerate in the world, but the day to day antics of her head of security (still going strong even after the toll taken a few years ago) kept her on her toes, among other things. Recently she had purchased a new home in Malibu, nowhere near a cliff she remarked with some amusement. Tony was rather taken with it, even though it seriously lacked in the workshop department. The underground wine cellar made up for it, for the most part. With a knowing grin, she inquired after any recent developments in Holly's life, leaving her little choice but to confirm the truth of her engagement. Taking her hand to examine the claddagh in the warm light, the CEO of Stark Enterprises gave her a genuine smile.

"I have to say, I was surprised when I heard the news first," she told her, flicking her hair behind her shoulder and squeezing her hand gently. "But it's great, really."

Squeezing back, a little stab of guilt shoved into Holly, her smile becoming a little unsure.

"Thanks. To be honest, I would've figured Tony...well, I mean..." she stumbled over her words, the can of worms threatening to spill in that instant.

"Oh look, Holly, we're out of wine," Maria cut in, gripping the empty bottle and tipping it for show. "Let's go get another bottle. From over there."

The sharp grasp on her elbow propelled her out of her seat, the younger brunette blushing hideously at her near faux pas as she rose.

"I, um, sure."

Off the prompting glance discreetly shot to her, Helen murmured something about joining them, to talk more with Maria about lab access in the future or something of that nature. Left alone with Pepper, Natasha knocked back the last gulp of her wine as the fairer redhead sighed aloud.

"That could've been executed better," Pepper pointed out obviously. "To be fair, it's nice of her to try."

Natasha lifted a shoulder, a lightning fast look shot in Maria's direction. "Didn't want to make it awkward."

Potts snorted, her smile lessening slightly. "Hard to avoid, but it's not a huge thing. You think I wasn't aware I was involved with someone who was noncommittally-inclined up until a few years ago? The fact that Tony made the steps that he has with me says a lot. Probably more than anybody is aware of."

The faraway look on her face spoke volumes, the silence following her statement unbroken by anything but the light chatter of the other attendees of the lounge. In her mind, the ex-agent could not speak on the matter; Pepper really was the one who had the best handle on the situation, and she had nothing to say which the other woman did not already have an answer to. Instead, she merely listened when Potts resumed the conversation.

"We're in a good place; I'm thankful for that. Despite the craziness that still happens on occasion. Good thing, too. Running the company is stressful enough as it is, especially with Stark Relief getting more and more demands," she finished, resoluteness in her eyes. For her part, Romanoff sat up a little straighter, patting her wrist amiably.

"Sorry about that. But people are grateful for it. Being rescued doesn't end with us," she murmured, glad to see Pepper give her a smirk before sipping her wine. Tracing the rim of her glass with a finger, the ex-agent couldn't help but wonder, "Have you guys talked about—"

"Yep," Pepper confirmed, looking anywhere but at the other woman.

Natasha's eyebrows inclined. "And still...?"

A grimace was barely suppressed, but it was not something a master spy couldn't spot. "Nope."

There was certainly a story behind that single word, one that the ex-agent knew she would not be hearing anytime soon. Still, since Tony was more or less intact the last time she'd seen him, she knew that it hadn't ended too terribly.

"This might change a few things, anyway."

"If that happens, then it happens," was all Pepper could respond with, the last of her drink disappearing after it. "Fast-walking him inevitably does nobody any good."

That time Nat snorted. "Don't I know it."

When the other women returned, the conversation moved onto other things, such as speculating about the ongoing events over in Hell's Kitchen, a glossed-over summary of Natasha's exploits in Africa, and somehow onto Maria's distant relatives looking for a place to crash for their New York vacation that summer (her cousin's family had emigrated to Canada years ago, and the kids were eager to come back for an American adventure now that her schedule was looser than it was when she was in SHIELD). In between all the talk, Holly managed to whisper her apologies quietly out the side of her mouth to Pepper, in which she was given a reassuring smile and a mutter of no apology being necessary.

Eventually, Holly decided to step outside for a breather, slipping away with a promise to be back as quickly as possible (Maria had given her a stony look until she promised; neither she nor the Black Widow liked the idea of her wandering off, but given that she would be just upstairs, they wouldn't curtail her objective). Noticing a missed call notification on her phone, she swiped at the screen and grinned. Hovering near the outdoor stairwell, she returned it, glad to hear her friend's voice when she answered. Sarah had participated in a family reunion of sorts with Aaron, and had wanted to let off steam about his grandmother's grouchy attitude. When given the chance, Holly shared about what her evening had been like, and a groan of envy came over the line.

"Do you know how jealous of you I am right now?" Sarah told her, making her friend giggle as she envisioned the exasperation on her face and her eyes rolling upward.

"Sorry to rob you of potential buddy-buddy time with Natasha," Holly said, knowing how much her friend admired the single female member of the Avengers. When the two had met nearly eight months ago, they'd actually hit it off, Sarah managing to get on Nat's good side in less time than she ever could. "For the record, there's been no talk of guns at all tonight."

A minor fib, but she wasn't about to tell her that. After all, Natasha really didn't have much to say on the topic other than she shot them at some people.

Sarah hummed to herself before laughing, "Too bad, you all might learn something if there was."

"Whatever," was Holly's apt rejoinder. Chuckling again, she glanced down at the watch on her wrist, frowning when she realized she'd been outside for longer than she should have been. "Look, I stepped outside for a minute, but I do have to get back. I'll text you when I get back to D.C., alright?"

"Have fun with the Super Girl Brigade."

The smile tugged at her lips, but she held back on it. "Okay then. Night, Sare."

"Night, Holl."

Hanging up and putting the phone in her pocket, she took a step away from the wall, preparing to weave her way through the crowd that had gathered around the door. Mostly smokers, but one or two were others who were looking to get some air after being confined in crowded space for too long. Stepping into the flow, she felt a tug on her sleeve, one which was hard enough to irritate her. Ignoring it, she tried to move forward again, the tugging returning in an instant. A hand wrapped around her forearm, dragging her back towards the alley. The roughness of it immediately she knew something was wrong. Stepping backwards, she pushed against the person pulling her, knocking them off-balance enough so that she could put a little distance between herself and him.

And it was a he; his hard, guttural grunt echoed around them as his grip slipped. Bringing her hand down, she chopped hard at his wrist, forcing him to let go. The guy looked like a dirty bum wandering the streets of New York, save for the fact that his gaze was too clear and the air around him was fraught with tension. And, at the shoulder of his ragged sweatshirt, there was an emblem, nearly too light to be seen. The streetlights reflected off of it, revealing a skull with numerous tentacles stretching out an curling in a circle. His eyes were hooded, but the look of pure loathing he gave her struck her then. Her throat had gone dry, her voice gone. Slipping a hand into her jacket pocket, her heart thumped as her fingers curled around the Taser hiding within.

She'd been going to self-defense course for a few weeks now, and had been in the hands of Clint in the interim. Her confidence was shaky at best, but she would be damned if she would get caught out now. The fellow took a menacing step towards her, fingers curling at his sides as if they were itching to get around her throat. Shuffling back a step or two, Holly tried to mentally prepare herself for the worst.

Suddenly, the man stiffened, his eyes going wide as someone appeared behind him, seizing him by the scruff of his neck.

"Beat it, punk," the person growled, yanking hard on the guy's neck until he tumbled to the concrete. Swiftly, the fellow rose again, ready to protest until he saw something that made him freeze. Turning back to face Holly again, he stared down the end of her Taser, withdrawn and ready as her courage surged. Caught between a rock and a hard place (and with no backup to boot; the crowd outside the lounge was starting to grow nervous and vocalize their discontent), the man tried to run, only to be caught by the new stranger again, bodily hurled at the dumpster in the nearby alley. A couple of women had screamed, while someone had run inside to get the attention of the staff for help. The stranger, dark blue hood drawn up over a cap, shook his head, casting a harsh glance at Holly. The flash of headlights from an oncoming car illuminated his face, and she felt the blood drain from her cheeks, shock taking over.

"Get back inside," he mumbled, hauling off down the alley and seizing the fellow once more, pulling him along with his left hand. The clicks of curling metal and the glinting lamplight shining off the fingers was weak, but it was enough to startle her out of her trance.

"Bucky?" she gasped. No answer was forthcoming as the two men disappeared around a corner, vanishing into thin air and leaving her instead with more questions.

* * *

 **A/N:** Working back to the weekend schedule, since that's the time I'll have to post. It's been kind of a crazy week, so I'm hoping to get back on an even keel after this.

I don't own anything from the MCU, as well as other films, authors, etc. (as always). Getting ever closer to _Age of Ultron_ territory, step by step...oh, Bucky. You keep finding ways to sneak in and out, with little explanation. Also, discreet-but-not-discreet nod to _How I Met Your Mother_ (which I also don't own) in regards to Miss Maria Hill and her family. Trust me, I had this planned for awhile...

The lounge described bears resemblance to the Shalel Lounge in New York. Yet another thing I do not own, but would like to go to sometime, actually. Based on the online pictures I found, it looks so nice!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!


	11. Chapter 11

Going back into the lounge, it was easy for the others to tell that something was wrong with Holly. Quietly, so as not to panic the other patrons around them, she told them about the scuffle outside, that a fight had broken out. More importantly, she posited that at least one of the guys in the fight was an enemy. When the name "HYDRA" passed her lips, Maria and Natasha instantly changed mood, each one asking for details about the incident, about the appearance of the people involved, in cold and clinical tones. Soon enough, they were on their feet, instructing the others to carefully gather up their things and head straight to the car while they went out to investigate further. It would be best for them to get out of the potential danger while they still could, and the two ex-agents would catch up with them at the Tower later. Nodding mutely, Pepper grabbed her phone, calling the driver and telling him that they needed to leave immediately. Pasting a calm, almost serene looks on her face, Holly felt her stomach churn harder than before.

If they were able to catch up to the guys, they would find much more than HYDRA. And she wasn't sure how to feel about it. If they found Bucky—if whom she'd seen truly was Bucky, if her eyes weren't playing tricks on her—and they backed him into a corner when he was trying to help, what would they do? After all, Natasha at the very least had a score to settle, she knew that much. It made her sick to think about how badly everything could blow out of proportion. Her hand slipped in her pocket, wrapping around her Taser as if in preparation.

Departing as asked, Pepper, Helen, and Holly could see no other evidence of the altercation on the sidewalk, and even the people hovering outside seemed to have already forgotten it. When the car came around, they dutifully headed out as per the other women's request. The ride back was done in silence, as if breaking it would cause more trouble to befall them. Returning to the Tower without further incident, they all bade good night to each other, the words sounding a little hollow even as they attempted to grin and pretend as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Riding the elevator up to the floor of Steve's quarters, she tipped her head back against the wall, closing her eyes briefly.

What was she going to tell Steve?

The singular sentence circled in her brain as the lift halted, the doors sweeping open for her. Disembarking, she went through the outer door, kicking her shoes off in the entryway and passing a hand over her face. Treading lightly, she spotted her fiance as he was stretched out on the couch, snoring lightly with his arm crooked over his eyes. For a moment, she just watched him breath in and out. The only time he was at peace, and even then it wasn't always true. She sighed inwardly, the partial grin that had sprung up fading away. Clearing her throat, she let her purse land on the coffee table with a thud, the noise just enough to jar Steve awake. Jerking up onto his elbows, he glanced around, getting his bearings again. Upon spotting Holly, a lazy smile bloomed, one that she responded to (just barely).

Turning over his wrist and looking at the watch, he remarked, "You're back early."

Holly's brow furrowed. "Early?"

"Earlier than I had expected," he explained, a wary look in his eyes as he watched her mechanically remove her jacket, drop it on top of her purse, and sit on the edge of the coffee table closest to him. Something wasn't right. "What happened?"

She tugged her sleeves down, fiddling with them as they covered her hands—a nervous habit, he recognized it right away—her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought about what she should say. Gently, he laid a palm on her knee, fingers brushing lightly as if to coax the answer out of her. Deciding to just tell him and get it over with, she took in a couple of deep breaths.

"Um...some guys, they got into it right outside the lounge. Well, it was sort of one-sided, but it was a fight," she said, gauging Steve's reaction. Concern had painted his features, but otherwise he had remained calm. In her gut, she knew that wouldn't be the case when she supplied the more important details, but that would be later. She still had the basics to wrap up. "They ran off before management or any of the beat cops got involved, but we thought it was best to head out after that."

He nodded, some relief in his voice when he replied, "I see."

She just managed to stifle a grimace; it was not going to be pleasant to be the one who took away that bit of relief.

"I, uh, I was out there, when it went down." At once Steve's gaze began to harden, but she did not glance away from him. Indeed, she unconsciously mirrored the look as she recalled it all, the flutters in her stomach replaced with annoyance at the memory. "And one of the guys, he..."

"What?" Steve asked, sitting up fully, feet planting firmly on the floor. Holly hesitated then, unsure of what to tell him first. Neither option would be met joyously, but she had no idea whether an appearance by HYDRA or her suspicions of Bucky Barnes would be better received. Crossing his arms over his chest, he exhaled loudly, eyebrows inclining. "He what?"

 _'Okay, deep breath,'_ she thought, _'here we go...'_

"I saw a patch on his clothes. It was designed not to be easily seen, I think, but the light caught it just right. I'm pretty sure it was HYDRA insignia."

No, she was certain; there was no mistaking the skull and tentacles motif, even if it could barely be made out in lamplight.

The myriad of emotions that crossed over Steve's face in those few seconds went so rapidly it nearly made her head spin. Equal parts of shock, anger, incredulity, underscored by a blot of fear, all warred in his expression. His blue eyes darkened, swept away from hers in furious thought. His chin dropped, mind working at the information presented. His tongue was frozen, his jaw tightened sharply. Reaching out, Holly cradled his head with one hand, thumb brushing the skin of his cheek.

"Look, hey, look at me," Holly nearly whispered, her voice and touch evidently enough to bring him back into focus. At once, Steve stood, taking her hands and drawing her up with him. Swiftly, he scanned over her body, darting from face to torso to legs before she had a chance to say anything about it.

"You're not hurt." It wasn't a question; he could see for himself that she was unharmed. Still, he lifted up her arms, looked her over. Shrugging, she shook her head, waving away the statement with an answer.

"No. He barely touched me." Having resolved to keep the fact of the agent menacing her to herself, her brain immediately starting screaming at her for her verbal slip. Steve's eyes narrowed, and she vainly hoped she could backtrack on it. "Uh..."

"Explain."

Nope, there was definitely no way to avoid it.

"He grabbed my elbow, but I got him off me," she said, a tiny surge of pride surfacing. Her courses and her training with Clint were already working to her benefit, even if she would have rather preferred not to use the techniques at all. "And the other guy was on him too quick for him to keep bothering me."

Steve moved away, pacing a few steps as he thought. "So they are targeting you."

"I think I was just convenient, honestly," Holly denied quickly. Truthfully, she didn't think it was just to do with her, and she pointed out, "I was one in a group of five that had pretty significant connections there."

Stopping in his tracks, he looked at her fully, hands on hips and face like flint."But you were the one who made yourself vulnerable, going out alone."

Part of her knew that he was primarily speaking out of worry, that the events that had transpired could have ended very differently if the circumstances were altered. Long after everything went down, she would acknowledge that. However, at the time, all she could hear was the tone in his voice, the harshness that stung her and rubbed her the wrong way. It felt like criticism, and it rankled.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I needed clearance from my superiors and a security detail to step out for some air," she said, the clipped slant of her voice digging into him. Subtly, he ground his teeth, forcing himself to remain at an even keel.

"Nat could've gone with you, or Maria," he supplied, her snort of derision coming hard his heels.

"Or maybe we all decided to act like normal people and not assume every time we go out it's going to be the death of us." She rolled her eyes, raking a hand through her hair. "God forbid."

"Oh, good. So none of you were thinking ahead, then," Steve riposted sarcastically. He dipped his chin, a mockery of a nod as he waved a hand superfluously in the air. "That's very reassuring."

Holly's frown deepened, her dark eyes glittering with misplaced emotion much as his were.

"Why are you being such an ass about this? It's not like I planned for this to happen! I'm alone a lot of the time in D.C., and you don't care then," she growled, the barely perceptible flinch in his gaze going unnoticed. Her hands went up to cover her eyes and work backward into her hair. Her grip tightened as she pulled it out, fluffing it out as she did. In another circumstance, it would have been comical, but at the moment it was just an outward manifestation of her frustration, and there wasn't anything funny about it. "But suddenly this happens tonight, and somehow it's this huge issue! Like it's all my fault or something?!"

It didn't make sense to her, any of it. Whether or not he meant to, it seemed as though the blame was being laid at her door, and she wasn't about to take that. They'd talked about the possibility of rogue agents, enemies, turning up and coming after her. She'd been taking steps to help protect herself, and he had supported it. In fact, he would more than gladly point out that she should've started much sooner than she had. So when someone finally tried to instigate something, it got directed at her? No way.

"I didn't say it was! You're missing the point!" he groused, the back of his hand slapping into the palm of the other, emphasizing the words. Irritation was bleeding through now, coloring everything as he tried to get her to understand.

"Am I?" Her eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. "Getting pissed with me over something I had no control over won't help anything."

"Look who's talking," he shot back, goaded into it. Groaning, she let herself deflating, pressing down on the annoyance and anger, flattening it until she could speak with relative ease.

"I'm done talking. It's late, I'm home safe, and that's enough for now." She moved away, treading down the long hall to the bedroom. "Good night, Steven."

"Hey, this isn't over!" he called after her, pivoting as she strode past him, a tremor of uncertainty taking the heat from his words. The sharp snap of the door shutting behind Holly was her only answer to that. Flabbergasted, Steve stared for a few moments at it, not quite believing that she had just walked out like that. Finally, he harrumphed darkly, shaking his head and stubbornly seating himself back on the couch. Aggressively, he flicked on the television and stewed silently, his jaw working on and off as he did so, sound and picture spilling over him unattended.

Under his breath, he muttered, "Dames...doesn't understand...excuse me..."

For her part, Holly had started to ready herself for bed, jerking movements outlining her endeavor as she changed clothes. She dropped them around the floor and left them where they lay, passive aggressive rebellion that it was. A minute or two passed with her sitting on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing as the remains of her energy rippled through her body. Once, twice, her eyes strayed to the door, wondering if he would come after her, push it further. The distant chatter on the television screen filled the quiet, and ultimately, she simply rolled her eyes and climbed under the sheets, lights clipping off neatly at her command.

"Pigheaded...not always right...being an ass," she mumbled her thoughts aloud, her brain too tired to filter it. She also couldn't block out her mother's voice reverberating through her head, years of experience weighing down advice that was unwelcome at the moment.

 _'Don't go to bed angry. It won't do you any good.'_

Too late, she grumbled to herself, switching sides and ducking her head under the pillow to shut it out. Heaving a frustrated sigh, she closed her eyes, drifting into a fitful doze. Later (she was unsure how much later, probably no more than an hour) the mattress shifted, dipping as Steve's larger frame settled upon it. Her eyes opened, adjusting slowly to the blackness. Waiting, she could only hear his soft breaths, nothing else forthcoming. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she realized something was missing. Her pillow had been pushed away in her sleep, off the bed. Inhaling through her nose, she shifted, stretching over the edge to get it and flop it back into its proper place. Her mother's voice called to her again, persisting as the seconds ticked by. Perhaps she should listen to it, and try again. However, before she had the chance to open her mouth, the exhausted timber of Steve interrupted her.

"I do care." The statement, soft and simple, cut hard into her. It was why he reacted the way he did; not because he thought it was her fault, or that she couldn't handle herself, but because he adored her. What could have happened made his heart sore thinking about it, and how having her walk the thin line between safety and chaos for his sake frightened him deep down. In her own heart, she knew all this, but had made the mistake of getting upset. They both did. But mistakes could be remedied over time.

At the very least, she wasn't going to go to sleep without letting him know she still cared, too.

Turning over, she crawled across the bed, lifting the sheets as she went. Leaning over him, she went to drop a kiss on his temple, the darkness disorienting her and making her plant the kiss in his hair instead.

"I know," she whispered, giving him the room to roll over and face her. Sliding down, she relaxed when he took her hand between both of his, gripping it mildly as they let themselves be lulled into sleep.

The next morning, they went about their routines, edging around each other with as few words as possible so as not to set the other one off. As Holly went about showering and changing, Steve had wandered off, the chimes of the wall display calling out. Sliding on her jeans and shirt, she contemplated the awkward maneuvers they were pulling around one another, and how to get back to the state of equilibrium. Once dressed, she went into the kitchen area, crowing appreciatively as the coffee maker finished filling. Grabbing down a couple mugs, she flashed Steve a little grin as he came in, settling against the counter behind her. Pouring some straight black (he had coffee more out of habit than anything else now, and having no sweeteners kicked it up a notch for him), she passed the cup to him, fingers brushing in the process.

"Nat called up. Said they found the guy in Central Park," he murmured suddenly, tilting his head towards the living room and the call screen. The agent was collapsed on the ground at the north end, beaten basically to a pulp, but he was alive. Lifting one shoulder, he drank some the brew and continued, "He's catatonic, apparently."

Having spent half her night chasing him down, Natasha had been hoping to at least get a solid interrogation out of the fellow, but the wild set of his terrified eyes and stiffness upon being approached told her she was out of luck in that regard. At least he was in custody, out of the way, and Steve was grateful for that.

"Guess he won't have much to say for himself for awhile," she replied, half-wincing at the idea. Whatever was done to the guy to render him such had to have been awful, and that left her with a sinking feeling inside. The confession that it might have been his erstwhile best friend who had caused that damage was on the tip of her tongue, neglected up until that moment, when Steve started talking again.

"Definitely not. Higher ups must have scrambled his brain before dumping him, since he didn't finish the job."

With her back turned to him, he did not see the flash of skepticism on her face. Pouring her cup, she hummed an agreement, gnawing on her lip as she stirred in creamer and sugar. The will to confess had been quelled somewhat; she felt so conflicted about it, but then again, in the light of day, she was questioning what she had even seen. Even if she wanted to believe it was Bucky who had stepped in, what good would it do to tell Steve about it? Especially since he'd disappeared afterward, again. It could have been a massive coincidence.

Trouble was, she didn't really believe in those anymore. She swallowed hard, the confliction a lump in her throat.

"At least it was just one guy," she managed to say, turning to face Steve, mug clenched between both hands. He glanced down into his coffee, shaking his head.

"This time." Upon hearing her exasperated sigh, his head jerked up, a hand held out to preempt a verbal onslaught. "Sorry...just, sorry."

The contrition in his tone and his face were genuine; his honesty made him fairly easy to read in situations like this. It made her feel guilty about her slight duplicity, but she pushed it down, instead crossing the space and settling next to him. Her fingers threaded through his, and she exhaled slowly.

"Me, too." She lifted a shoulder, a self-deprecating smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I wasn't being the best person about it all."

Neither of them were, really. Given that this was the first real experience she'd ever had with HYDRA (the events of September did not count, in her mind; coming into contact with a deprogrammed assassin was in an altogether different ballpark), she knew that gotten out relatively unscathed, and that she shouldn't have jumped down Steve's throat as quickly as she had. Nor should he have done the same. Well, it was something to work on, and they would do that together.

He gave her a rueful glance, the look in his eyes commiserating with her statement. "I'm just thankful you didn't try shooting at me."

She snickered, not doubting in the slightest that there was a story behind that. "You're lucky I'm not that fond of guns. But I could always give the Taser a shot."

The marked discomfort on Steve's face made her laugh, and she set about scrounging up some breakfast after leaning up and pressing her lips against his. Fences, while not totally mended, were on the way there.

 **xXxXxXx**

Several days later, Holly found herself at the register in the store, the afternoon trailing by with few customers coming in and out. Some of the uproar that had surrounded the news of her engagement was starting to die down, and the hangers-on had started looking elsewhere for their gossip and intrigue. Tapping her finger along the counter, she tossed her hair, closing her eyes and listening as the overhead sound system played the classical tracks she'd gotten so familiar with over the last few years. When she opened her eyes again, she looked out the wide windows at the front, spotting the bench across the street. People walked to and fro, but a man had appeared there, arm draped over the back of it, black cap and sunglasses on despite the weak sunlight barely piercing the clouds. He seemed familiar, and when he turned to look down the street, exposing his profile, she had to stifle her gasp. Holly's mouth turned down into a frown; she was not up for surprises today, and refused to be ambushed by one. Instead, she stiffened her spine, heading back into her office and grabbing up her jacket.

"Michelle, cover the register. I'm going to take a break outside for a bit," she called out, waiting for the new hire (nice girl, had a better attitude than the last day shift person) to take her place at the counter. Slinging on the jacket, she boldly marched across the street, hands jammed into pockets and legs working quickly as she darted through the lull of traffic. Coming up on the guy, who had watched her cross but did not move, she inclined her head to the bench, silently asking permission to join him. He dipped his chin once, and she swiftly took a seat. For a few minutes, neither said a word; rather, they tolerated each other's presence, the April day going on at the same pace as it had before.

"Well, this is a bit of an improvement," she eventually broke the peace. She just couldn't stand it anymore. Gesturing between them, she continued, "We're not swinging at each other this time."

The fellow frowned, removing the sunglasses and the ice in his eyes sharpening."I didn't swing at you the first time."

She had the grace to look a little sheepish at that. "I guess that's true. But, I mean...you're..."

Bucky held up a hand, cutting her off. "I know."

Another long moment passed, wherein the pair simply observed one another. Almost as if they were sizing one another up, she thought, though she knew that wasn't the case.

"Buc—" She cut herself off, the nickname stumbling on her tongue. It was hard for her, reconciling the stories Steve had told her with the experiences she'd had with this man. A part of her felt like calling him that wasn't right, not at the moment. Staring hard at him, she instead used his rarely-used first name. "James. Here you are."

He nodded. "Yes."

His single syllable answer, couple with his bland expression, irritated her slightly. Summoning the nerve, she looked at him, focusing intently on his face.

"Why...just why?" Holly stumbled, inwardly chastising herself for it and yet still pressing onward. "I can't even ask anything beyond that. I'm just stunned that you're around. Why?"

Concentration took over his features, furrowing his brow and making him squint as he thought. What should he tell her, he wondered? What answer would she accept?

"Just...because."

She blinked, nonplussed. "Please tell me you've got more than that to say."

Sighing, he dropped his gaze, his scuffed boots a fascinating sight at that second. Soon enough, he found his tongue again, something in his voice ringing true as he spoke. "It's the right thing for me to do."

Deep down, she knew Barnes could be a frightening person, deadly and terrifying. But the turn of his head, the slouch of shoulders, made him seem vulnerable then...made him seem more human. So while she scaled back on the snark, there was still a touch of it when she spoke again.

"Randomly showing up and protecting me from being jumped once will do that, huh?"

"Not just once," he muttered, not low enough so that she couldn't hear. As the color started to drain from her face at the implication, he tipped his head to the side sharply. "Whether you like to acknowledge it or not, you're a target. Even more so now that you've got that on your finger."

He pointed at the claddagh—a small voice at the back of his head marveling at the fact that Stevie had actually gotten up the stones to ask in the first place—to highlight his point.

"You can't do it all on your own, either of you. So...I have been," Bucky concluded, flicking his fingers at thin air as if to brush off his revealed involvement. Weeks ago, he'd made the resolution to keep his activities a secret, to work from the shadows and out of the captain's light. However, he'd made the choice to break that promise in order to do as he had set out to and defend her from a surprise attack. Adapt, change to accommodate the surroundings, and reach the objective by whatever means necessary. The Winter Soldier was good at that, and Bucky Barnes had retained that much over his last year of freedom. And due to adaptation, he now had to make his position clear, to tell exactly how it was and how it would be.

"So, what's in it for you to do this? No offense, but you aren't exactly the poster child for altruism," Holly replied in time, causing him to smirk.

"Nobody really is." Shaking his head, he grunted, "It's...not exactly that."

"Then what is it?"

Slowly, carefully, as though he was pulling painful barbs one by one from himself, Bucky explained further, exposing the heart of the matter as he hadn't before.

"I can't change what's happened, what I've done, but I can...I can choose to not let it happen to someone else."

Holly stared at him, dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "This is your Golden Ticket, then."

An eyebrow inclined, curiosity in his face. "I'm not looking for a reward, if that's what you're getting at."

"No, it's a...you know what, I already have one man to help catch up on seventy years of pop culture references, and that's enough," she cut herself off, fingers rubbing against her temples briefly. Glancing over, she conceded, "But you weren't far off the mark with your guess. More like you're looking at this as a chance for something better."

That sounded closer to what he was looking for, and so he dipped his chin in agreement. "Provided it doesn't kill me."

"Well, from what I understand, it's very hard to do that." She gave him a wan smile, which didn't entirely mask the fear within it. "I'm not sure I'm totally comfortable with this."

"I know," he repeated, not sounding apologetic for it in the slightest. Besides, she didn't seem to rejecting the idea, or telling him off for it. Odds were she wouldn't do so, simply because it was to her benefit not to. He had enough grace to concede that the whole situation hadn't really settled on her yet, and so she wouldn't be able to say yea or nay until it had. Best to go, to give the chance to think on everything. Rising from his seat, he zipped up his hoodie, the canvas jacket over it buttoned next. Replacing the sunglasses on his face, he murmured, "He…it would be better if you didn't say anything about this...meeting."

Holly's head jerked up so suddenly it was a wonder that she didn't have whiplash. Disbelief poured from her gaze, her mouth flapping open and closed for a second or two. Soon enough, she snorted, dropping her head into her hands.

"Now that I no longer have the option of plausible deniability, that's when you make the condition. Of course."

That pulled Barnes up short, made him pause in his departure. "What?"

Something akin to pity decorated her features, though it was offset by the narrowing of her eyes.

"I don't know if I can keep it from him, James," she responded, hitting the word _him_ hard enough to make him understand. She lifted her arms when he took a defensive stance, as if he would move to make her refute her words, with her palms out. "This is…look, you're gonna do what you want. Free country here. Hell, for all either of us knows, it could end here and you might just bugger off after that."

Fair enough; he'd done it before, after all. Twice. Still, her words stung a bit, and he glared at her. Her throat constricted visibly, and a hand pressed against her abdomen: dry throat, nervous stomach, if he had to guess. Still, even if she flinched, she wasn't totally cowed by him. Boy, Stevie sure knew how to pick 'em.

"But if it comes down to it, I'm not going to lie to him if he suspects your being around." Sincerity laced her tone, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "It won't do anyone any good."

Perhaps, perhaps not. Just as he'd done with her, she'd shown him the lay of the land from her end. But for now, if it was left at that, then maybe this would be the end of it all. HYDRA was significantly weakened, he knew that much, and if he knew the captain well (part of him did, at least), then it wouldn't be very long before a final confrontation was reached. If it had to be this way, then he would have to accept it.

"Okay," Bucky muttered, unable to continue to look at the strong feelings exposed on her face, in her eyes. He was so used to blankness, and fury, that exposure to other emotions blindsided him more often than not. It made him feel...well, it made him _feel_ , and he was still trying to get used to that. Turning away, he manage to take a few steps before she called out to him.

"They are still looking out for you, you know."

A chord was struck, air constricting in his lungs as the comment hit home. Not forgotten, then. But forgiven...that wouldn't happen yet. So they would have to keep looking, as much as he wished they wouldn't. As much as he wished Steve wouldn't.

"I know," he said once more, shrugging up his shoulders against the guilt and weaving into the crowds of people milling around the sidewalks, vanishing from sight, and with any luck, from mind. For the time being.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hoo boy, that was a tough one to write. Mainly because I absolutely despise confrontation (verbal ones honestly make me cringe, no matter how slight they are), but also because Buck and Holly had to have their one-on-one chat. Eh, nobody's perfect, just saying. And we'll see how long Holly can go without owning up to Steve about Bucky's involvement, now that it's 100% confirmed...probably not long, if you're a betting person—which I certainly am not. ;)

I don't own any references to the MCU, nor to _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. I swear, we are so close to _Age of Ultron_ territory now...so close!

Just taking this moment to thank all my reviewers/readers who have stayed with the story thus far! You guys are great, and I genuinely wish I could thank each and every one of you in person (especially you guest reviewers; so many of you ask such good questions, and I want to be able to answer them!) for sticking around. :)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	12. Chapter 12

The young man paced around the small quarters, barely comfortable in the space. He started threading a few fingers through his blanched hair, tugging on it lightly as he made his way to the single window and back. An unfortunate byproduct of his time in contact with the scepter, it had grown on him over the last several months. Threaded with the original dark auburn, he thought it made him look older, imposing. A physical sign that he was not average, and perhaps not to be trifled with. He was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he strode back and forth, his jaw working as he went. The energy was coiled inside, threatening to spill over. And yet, he had no way to exorcise it, being forced to stay put. The cold stone of the walls, combined with the years of neglect, had made the place less than homey, but he did not care too much about it. It was a place to stay, and it would not be permanent. No home was permanent, he knew that much. But still, the hodgepodge elements—the sparsely furnished sitting space, the hastily grafted kitchenette—were a step up from the last shelter they'd been in. Just a little. However, it was not enough.

Once again, he approached the baron, an audience granted for five minutes of the leader's time. In less than that, he had entirely shot down the younger one's pleas. As ever, they fell upon deaf ears. Focus on building the army was absolute, and in the meantime, the Enhanced would have to wait. Rather, the baron was irritated to be badgered at the time, and was obviously in no humor to listen to him. The suggestion to go out with scouting crews, or to spread the word through the local populace (his people, no less) was deemed unnecessary. They were getting so close to achieving the ultimate goal. Being sidetracked due to the impatience of one could disrupt the whole. Ultimately, Strucker refused, and furthermore laid down restrictions. No separate missions, no contact with the outside world, nothing. Any access to the outer grounds, up to and including the abandoned tunnel entrance, would be strictly monitored. They would be effective immediately and would remain in place until it was the right moment. Pietro scoffed out loud, but only once he was far away from Strucker, and only in the presence of the one person he trusted in the world. Coming to rest for a brief moment, he flashed a glance in her direction, where she was seated cross-legged on the couch, letting him wander unattended. Tapping his finger on the weathered windowsill, he did not hesitate to speak.

"Do you think we'll ever get our chance, Wanda?"

Wanda looked up from her book, one of the few treasures permitted to travel with her between hideouts. It was one of her favorites, once borrowed to her from a fellow protester two years ago after a demonstration against the Avengers in the capital. Though faded and worn due to water damage and other various assaults, it had survived. Her auburn tresses were bound back for once, though the end of it was slung over her shoulder. Shrugging, she set the book aside, allowing herself to concentrate fully on her brother's question. Folding her hand in her lap, she sighed.

"If the baron had his way...I don't know," she murmured, wary of being overheard. Though they were given as much space as possible (and her abilities helped perpetuate enough terror from the guards to ensure this), she was never sure that they were totally alone. HYDRA had lasted long against its enemies, protected itself even from the inside. For all either of them knew, they could be spying on them with cameras and other such things, things she could not sense because they were not sentient. Shaking off her brooding thoughts, she considered the baron again. "He fears too much right now. Not just us, but...everything."

Pietro's finger had stilled, his body at rest as she spoke. Emboldened by her brother's sudden peace, she chose to speak her mind, in their first language.

" _He fears the future, that he won't be able to control it._ "

Slowly, he nodded, understanding and answering in kind. " _To control us._ "

"That, too," Wanda breathed, reverting to English with a sardonic grin coming to her lips. Pietro returned it briefly, his gaze becoming unfocused as he looked out the window again. Though it was spring, light snow was falling, peppering the hillside and the raised walls of the compound, the little he could see from that point. At least he could see that much of his country, now that his privileges had been curtailed.

"I didn't want this, when we joined," he confessed quietly, leaning his elbows on the sill, a rumble in his throat. Wanda looked on him, his profile resembling their father's so much to the point that she felt pinpricks at her eyelids. Pressing against them, effectively pushing back the sudden tears, she exhaled sharply.

"I know what you wanted. What you still want," she said, the ever-burning fire in her heart spiking for a second or two. The single name fueling the hatred bloomed in her mind, followed by the smug, selfish face it belonged to. Stark; a name she would never forget, never forgive, and a man she would never give quarter to. Sensing her brother's own inner upsurge of feeling, she reaffirmed, "I want it, too. And I know we will have our chance."

Pietro smirked at the glass, his attention still on the drifting snow outside. "You haven't been able to bend the world to your will yet, sister. Just weak men."

Wanda shrugged. "Perhaps not. But I do know that we will get out of here. I can feel it."

Her brother snorted at that, but there was little animosity in it. He knew better than to disparage his sister's gut feelings. Thus far, it had kept them alive, through riots and war and debilitating experiments.

"Do you think you could speed it along?" Pietro asked instead, earning a dry chuckle for his efforts.

"Not fast enough for you, it seems," Wanda responded, eyes darting around curiously. Motioning for him to come closer, she waited until he sat down beside her, ears bent towards her as she whispered in their mother tongue, " _But when it comes, we must take it. No matter what he says, or orders._ "

She shot a look at the door, as if the baron were standing there, his disapproving glare resting on them. He took her hand, clasping it as if to establish a pact, something they'd done many times since childhood. He nodded once. When the chance came—no ifs, he would not let himself think that way—he would take it, and run with his sister.

And they would do what they were meant to do.

"Stark first," he said, in English, a reminder.

"The others after," she replied, a promise.

 **xXxXxXx**

"Can I just say how sorry I am for giving you so much crap back in the day?" Holly began the video call, her eyes wide as she held up the bridal magazines she' picked up the week before. The woman on the other end laughed, settling back in her desk chair as she watched the pages flip in the camera lens.

"That's what happens. Karma comes and bites you in the ass," Heather retorted, smiling evilly at her younger sister's lamentable expression. Having received a message from her a few days earlier, the two siblings planned on that evening after work to catch up, while the significant others were occupied (Steve was back in New York for the week, and Jake was busy spending "man time" with their little boys...which would inevitably be dominated by the the toddler wanting to play pretend or insisting on watching Bubble Guppies over whatever ball game was stored on the TiVo). Having not seen each other since Christmas, it was a chance Heather was more than ready to leap at. Particularly given her sister's sudden matrimonial developments. Her eyes, a few shades lighter brown than Holly's, glittered as she tucked back errant strands of her hair. Oh, she would enjoy this.

The older of the two Martin sisters had gone through her fair share of teasing and incredulity at Holly's hands over four years ago, when she was planning her wedding. She just hoped Holly would fare better than she did; she'd started crying every time she had to listen to songs for the first dance, which Hank had teased her about. Well, until she popped him in the shoulder, then he was a little teary, too.

Holly shook her head, gaze narrowing as she gave a sarcastic laugh at her sister's words. "I mean, picking colors, right down to the groomsmen's ties? And then dresses, centerpieces, bridal party gifts, DJs that don't suck...we haven't even settled on a date yet."

She flopped back on her couch, massaging her temples briefly. It was her fault for even looking into all that this early in the game. She couldn't help herself; she wanted to get an idea of what she was going to need to take care of, and so she investigated. She'd known that weddings involved a lot of work, had been a bridesmaid, but she still was a little stunned by the amount of detail that could go into the event. Trolling wedding blogs and websites did not improve her outlook on the situation.

"This is all so overwhelming," she grumbled. Heather lifted a shoulder, cupping one hand in the air while the other lifted up the wine glass she was keeping off to the side. Taking a sip of it, she gestured for Holly to follow suit. Which she did, after fetching her glass from where it had been perched: on the kitchen counter, left in the rush to answer the call on the computer before it was too late.

"I know, it can be," Heather said after she'd taken a drink, some sympathy coming through now. Dipping her chin, she made a dismissive gesture, confidence infusing her tone. "You'll figure it out. You're smart...ish."

Holly stuck her tongue out at her for a second, snickering humorlessly. "Shut up."

The two traded remarks as Holly flipped through the pages of one magazine or another, the conversation injected with the ongoing events of Heather's life. Final projects were coming due for her students, and given that she was the English teacher, she had to look forward to quite a few papers. Between that and Jake's decent quarter thus far at the office, and little Cole deciding he needed to start throwing anything and everything "just like Cap Steve does on TV" in the house, it had been a busy couple of months in their house. Holly had responded with a warm smile in regards to her nephew's shenanigans, snippets of work and life coming through. Not much could be told, all things considered, but what little could be divulged, she wanted to hear about it.

"Anything else going on?" Heather asked after a moment, watching her sister closely. Holly shrugged, shaking her head, but her expression had darkened slightly, adopting a stony look. Tutting under her breath, Heather pointed at her camera, the finger waving around as she gestured at it. "You're doing that thing where that line in your forehead becomes pronounced when you're thinking too hard."

Holly immediately placed her hand over it, feeling the groove with her fingers. "Am I?"

Sighing, and not surprised by the slight deflection, Heather continued, "Can't be just because of wedding stuff; you've only been engaged for a month."

True, the younger one allowed the point to be made. Her sibling was not wrong. However, she bit her lip momentarily, unsure of how much she could honestly say.

"I...it's not something I can really talk about," she murmured, the furrow growing more pronounced. Heather mimicked it on her end, the family resemblance becoming marked then.

"Oh...is it a Steve thing?" she asked, dropping her voice low. If was something to do with him, with his work, she could understand the worry. After all, he had probably one of the most dangerous occupations on the planet, and the fact that Holly had stuck with him despite that said quite a bit. Heather knew she would never be able to live with that kind of danger, that fear.

"It's an important thing, and will involve him at some point," Holly muttered, gripping her hands tightly together to stop herself from tugging her sleeves down over them. "I'm just...I've been sitting on it for awhile, trying to feel it out before saying anything."

It was a wonder she'd lasted that long, not telling Steve about Bucky's reappearances. Part of her was waiting to see if he would show up again, but so far, she'd glimpsed nothing of the fellow, her life proceeding as though he'd never made a blip on the radar. The only reason she was getting away with keeping her mouth shut was the prolonged absences; with Steve in New York part of the time, he couldn't always be around to see her brooding, contemplating what she had been made privy to. Still, she knew he was starting to suspect, and she didn't want it hanging over them. Not now, not with so much at stake.

The older woman inclined her eyebrows, clicking her tongue. "That's very vague."

Again, her point was valid. But how could she tell her about a former assassin that had taken up the mantle of guardian? How could she say that he was once her fiance's best friend...from his childhood? And how could she say that he had no idea that the aforementioned friend was doing this to make up for his sins? Seriously, how could she express those details without her sister becoming either entirely lost or terrified for her safety? She dropped her head in her hands then, pulling them back through her hair to tie it up in a ponytail, attempting to formulate a response.

"Sorry, that's about as much as I can give away. It's just...one of those things where I know there's going to be a big reaction when I tell him about it, but I don't know what kind of reaction it will be."

Heather's mouth dropped open then, shock decorating her face. "Oh my God, you're pregnant."

Not expecting _that,_ Holly gasped at her sister's leap in logic, coughing hard as she began to choke on her own saliva. After a couple of minutes spent hacking, she swallowed down some wine swiftly, wetting her throat enough for the gasping breaths to peter off. Wiping away the water that had accumulated in her eyes, she shot the computer screen a sharp glare.

"Good Lord, you almost killed me," she grunted shakily, holding up a hand to preempt Heather from saying anything. "I'm not pregnant."

Draining the last dregs from her glass, Heather tipped her head to the side, a hand pressed to her chest. "Well, pardon me for coming to that conclusion. You know, with the needing to tell your fiance something important that you've been holding back because you're afraid of what he'll say and all that."

Holly frowned. When she put it like that, yeah, perhaps making that connection wasn't too out there. Still, she knew the truth, and her sister couldn't be further from it.

"You're pardoned," she replied with just a hint of snark, a laugh at the back of her sentence. Her expression sobered as she went on, "It's just...I can't hold it in much longer, and I don't know what I should do."

For a long moment the sisters looked at one another, a sense of familiarity settling over them even with serious subject matter. Even though Holly gravitated more towards their brother, she and Heather had had their moments together growing up, a little sister looking up to the older one for help navigating the world around them. It was a lot of pressure for Heather back then, wanting her space and separate identity from her, but she didn't want her sister to fall when she could prevent it. Just like now. Circumstances varied, but ultimately, it was still the same.

Swirling the empty glass in her hand, she inhaled deeply, eyes cutting to the right. "Well, with the lack of detail provided, I can't give you specifics. All I can give you is some standard older sister advice. You ready for it?"

"Sure."

Heather looked her straight in the eye then, gaze never wavering. "Just tell him the truth already. If he explodes on you, that's his issue, not yours. Is it something that you did deliberately?"

Holly shook her head again. "No. I wasn't even aware of it until a little while ago."

"Sure you're not pregnant?" her sister teased, and off her sour look, she giggled, "Kidding. Look, ultimately, you've gotta do what your gut tells ya, and knowing you, it's screaming at you for not being honest. Am I close to the mark?"

A deadpan look graced the younger woman's face. "You're Hawkeye level, and knowing him personally, let me tell you, that's saying something."

Heather chuckled once more, accepting the pseudo-compliment for what it was worth. "Okay. But you knew this already. You just needed to hear it said out loud by someone else, didn't you?"

A corner of Holly's mouth lifted, something akin to relief in her face. "Yeah, I did."

Deep down, she knew that she had to tell Steve about Bucky; she'd told him so herself. Having Heather confirm it, support it even, was enough to give her the courage to do so. When she saw him next, she would do what she promised Bucky would happen. Steve would know the truth, and they would proceed from there.

"Glad I can be of use," the elder Martin sister remarked, inclining her head as a sort of mock bow. In return, she was given a wide smile for her gesture.

"Thanks, Heather," Holly intoned, genuinely glad to have at least talked about it with someone, even if she couldn't go into details. Deciding to change the subject, she put a finger to her chin, painting on a look of intensity. "Now what do you think of puce for the bridesmaids' dresses?"

Heather nearly gagged, her eyes boggling. "God, I've never liked that color. Always makes me think it's gonna look like puke, even though it doesn't. Imagine that, a pukey dress walking down the aisle."

Holly wrinkled her nose at that. "And you wonder why we don't talk very often."

 **xXxXxXx**

The screen went blank, the secure line in her office closed as Maria sank back into her chair. Over a year since the fall of SHIELD, over a year since the loss of the helicarriers, and now, finally, results. HYDRA was broken, but not beaten, in the battle over the Potomac, and despite numerous efforts to the contrary, Maria did not think that the end would ever be in sight. Organizations like that, they fell, but they did not disappear. There was always someone there to hold up the banner, to wave the challenge of evil in the face of the righteous. But perhaps, now, there could be hope for an end.

Exhaling softly, she closed her eyes as the files began to fill her inbox, all the intel gathered by Coulson and his team transferred to her swiftly. Tapping from one to the next, she could feel anticipation growing. Private files, known references, allies, enemies, all information pertaining to the last branch of HYDRA was there, at her fingertips. Deftly, she maneuvered it all on the server, downloading it and keeping it safe in the Avengers' systems. Setting up the printer to print off backup paper files, she rose from her desk, taking her tablet along and hooking her Bluetooth onto her ear. Striding confidently up to the elevator, she tapped into the main line.

"JARVIS, contact all team links, and tell everyone to gather immediately."

"Yes, ma'am, although I will let you know that Dr. Banner has already called the team to the lab. Evidently, the tracking system for locating the scepter has been yielding some results."

The smile she gave in answer to that was nearly feral, as she paged through a few photos exposing Doctor List as he was boarding a plane for Sokovia. Finally, everything was coming together.

"Perfect. I'll go to them, then."

Exiting off the line with JARVIS, she stepped into the elevator, taking it to the top floors of the Tower. As she did so, Maria tapped in to make another call, accessing another secure line.

"Hill," the gruff voice on the other end greeted her, all smoothness and authority as always. It made Maria grin slightly to hear it, though she did not let it linger long.

"I thought you might want to hear the news when everybody else does, sir."

"Why not? An old man needs to have entertainment every now and again," was the response, dry as sandpaper. Going up the stairs to the laboratory, she listened as Banner's voice floated down, mingled with Stark's as they discussed the ramifications of the new data. A lot of technical jargon, some of which even she didn't understand, shot out, the back-and-forth between them building in intensity with each breath. She paused on the landing, choosing to let them talk for a moment before barging in.

"With the scepter making more appearances on the radar, we'll able to find Strucker that much quicker," Bruce crowed, brown eyes alight with cautious glee. For months, there had been nothing to report as far as the tracking with, an odd spot here and there coming up, too short to register even a location with a set radius. But now, over the last couple of days, the blips had been coming up more often, enough to make a difference.

"The sooner, the better. Whatever he's using that thing on, it's gotta be something pretty big," Stark interjected, his own dark gaze darting from one team member to the next. "I, for one, want to know what's up with the man behind the curtain."

Steve, catching the minute referencing, let a corner of his mouth turn up briefly, seriousness invading his face again soon after that. About to speak, he was cut off by another remark.

"It's not going to be anything good," Clint indicated, sharing a look with Romanoff, both of them sporting expressions of wariness behind the pleasure at the news. After all, they had been the ones sifting through mined and stolen files for nearly a year, and nothing that HYDRA had a hand in was of a positive nature. Schematics alone showed that they were planning on building massive weaponry, and there was evidence of deceased test subjects being exposed to the power of the scepter. Whatever Stark hoped to find now, they knew it would most likely be horrifying.

However, the god in the corner looked just as pleased as the two scientists, grin spread wide and eyes bright. "Still, we are that much closer to find them, and the scepter. That is enough for me."

Rogers stepped forward, following Bruce's finger as he changed from one wall display to the next, showing the changes. "How soon do you think you could pin down a location?"

An edge of eagerness bled into his voice; so much of him wanted this threat, the bane of his existence for what seemed like a lifetime, gone, and to have it be so close was tantalizing. It needed to be done, and done quickly, but when?

Judging the time to be right, Maria knocked on the door frame, alerting the others to her presence. Six pairs of eyes fastened on her as she strode into the lab, swiping through the files until she found the correct one.

"Much sooner than you think," she told the captain, gesturing with the device in her hand. "A contact of mine just supplied me with this."

Flipping her tablet around, she faced it towards him and the rest of the team. A map was displayed on its surface with a town pinpointed in red. Novi Grad, Sokovia. Dragging her finger across the screen, it showed an enlarged photograph of a stone compound, a blurry image of the baron meeting outside of it with Doctor List following. Looking around at each of their faces, she could see a myriad of expressions, but they all had the same layer filtering through beneath them: hope.

"It's now."

* * *

 **A/N:**...This chapter was very family themed, wasn't it? Well, the twins wanted their time, and I wasn't about to refuse. ;) I did not bother translating their sentences into another language because, well, being an English speaker who relies on Google to translate for me, odds are that wouldn't have worked out so well. A word here and there, sure. But full sentences...well, I italicized them to indicate the switch between languages. Yeah, they have those superpowers and are multilingual? Well done, Maximoffs. And Heather makes her first sequel appearance, yay!

It's right there, you guys, right there! _Age of Ultron_ is right there! That being said, I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any mentioned pop culture references ( _Wizard of Oz_ shout-out; definitely don't own that. Well, I own two copies of the film. Which I love...they have different bonus features on them, that's why I have so many).

PS—No, I have not seen the Deadpool movie yet...don't judge me, I'm going to see it as soon as I can!

Anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	13. Chapter 13

Surveying a digital map of the layout of Novi Grad, the team grouped around the display near the front of the quinjet, JARVIS autopiloting it to their destination. Sokovia, an Eastern European country, was nestled in the Carpathian mountains. Expanding down into a valley, the country was squarely set between Romania, Hungary, and Ukraine. It had broken away from all three nations at some point in the early nineties, but had recently started asserting itself, subsequent riots and political hand-changing making the news over the last few years. Currently, though, it housed more than a disquieted populace and an ineffective government.

An abandoned military base, left over from the second world war, had been purchased and inhabited in the last eighteen months. Since money was sorely needed, the government had no qualms selling it, no matter whom the highest bidder was. It was the most likely location of a base for the illicit organization: three foot thick walls that stretched high enough to keep people out—or in, depending on the viewpoint—with a marked upsurge in electrical output, with building schematics from a survey done in the seventies showing deep passageways and cells. Little did the Sokovians know it was in the care of HYDRA, under the control of a man of horrible stature and vision. Any and all operations within the structure were secret, and therefore nobody in the surrounding city had any information to contribute to the files forwarded to the Avengers' database. But, much like Baron von Strucker, the team had not been idle. There was more than enough compiled evidence over the last year from other bases they'd taken and destroyed to charge him with heinous crimes and to shut down the organization for good. First, however, they had to breach the fortress he'd created, expose him and his crew what he truly was, to the populace.

The building itself was built into the mountain, surrounded by dank forest and snowy terrain (that spring was a particularly cold one, JARVIS had noted, and as such snow had fallen the evening before). The ground would be wet, hard, and at times rocky, but they could work around that. The captain's eyes flicked over the map, extending a hand to point at a region to the right. An outcropping, a break in the treeline that would allow for a craft the size of the quinjet to land, was there, close enough to reach the fortress in good time and yet far enough away so they would not be spotted immediately.

"We should land in the woods, here," he said, with Tony murmuring quietly to JARVIS to alter the course as suggested. He swept his hand over the layout, jabbing at the outlined building, the fingerless gauntlet on him highlighting the movement. "We'll infiltrate from the east, eliminating any and all enemies that choose to attack."

"Odds are there will be plenty of foot soldiers working the perimeter," Barton interjected, taking the time to open his pack and retrieve several arrowheads. As he loaded them into the rotating end of his quiver, he missed Natasha's concurring nod.

Steve grimaced. "Hopefully, we'll get the jump on them, and then cut off Strucker and List before they can escape. If they haven't moved the scepter—"

"And if they have?" Bruce asked suddenly, perching in a seat, his dark eyes looking over everything, committing it to memory. If he turned...when he turned...he wanted to at least have that to draw on so he wouldn't become lost in his rage.

The doctor had raised a valid point, one that none of them were willing to acknowledge until then. For so long, they had been searching for the scepter. For so long, it had been a tool exploited by the wrong people, held beyond the reach of the right. It was one of the things SHIELD had unfortunately packed away and overlooked, and with its fall, it was lost. It was not of the earth, and brought irreparable damage the longer it stayed. For the good of everyone, it needed to be found, taken away. But if it was gone, taken away and hidden once again...the thought rankled. Thor in particular found it distasteful, his lips drawn into a deep frown and his gaze turning stormy. Steve and Tony shared a glance, no words exchanged, but their thoughts running on a similar line (for once).

"Same drill as before," Steve told him, a sour taste in his mouth at the idea of possible loss. "Mine any data, take anyone who surrenders into custody, and then try to pinpoint the next target. Like we've been doing for the last several months. But if it's still there..."

If it was still there, they would take it back. Thor could remove it, Loki's last remnant on the world, and place it where it could do no damage. It would break HYDRA once and for all, remove future alien threat by not having there to beckon them to the earth. It would end everything. The mission would finally be over. None of them needed to be reminded of that.

The quinjet started its descent a little over an hour after the discussion, the craft guided smoothly as Clint took over from JARVIS and settling down in the outcropping as directed. The team, kitted out in their uniforms and armed to the teeth with their weapons of choice, waited on the edge. The platform opened, all but Banner perched and ready. He would follow behind, discreetly, and if a code green was necessary, he would "suit up" as well, but for the moment he would trail and watch. Slipping on his helmet, Captain America glanced out the corner of his eye, viewing Barton shake out the sleeves of his overcoat, and Black Widow's charging lines along her suit lit up bright blue. The tinny click of Tony's feet as he maneuvered behind him rang in his ears, through the earpiece tucked inside, and Mjolnir whistled slightly as Thor adjusted his grip.

It was time. Time to end this.

Gesturing to the trees, Steve took the first step forward. "Let's move out."

 **xXxXxXx**

The outpost was silent, the barren path that served as a road littered with nothing but pine needles and snow. For the soldiers commanded to be there, it was nothing short of boring. Everything that happened, happened in the fortress itself. However, everyone had to do rounds, be dispatched now and again to guard the outskirts of the property. It was too dangerous to leave it unattended, particularly for their organization. Risking discovery now would be disastrous, and they could not afford to take chances.

Still, the few there could not help but sigh impatiently, checking timepieces in their Jeeps and in the outpost building, waiting for a call to return to the base. It was nearly; they were ready to break for some food and to warm up. The April air was chilling, even through their heavy uniforms. One man, a lieutenant, was busy looking over his motorcycle in between rounds, hoping the inclement weather would hold off long enough to allow spring to actually gain a foothold and give him the chance to better utilize the vehicle.

Clouds were rolling in, blotting out the sun and drawing muttered curses from the others. The shadows darkened slightly, moved...Moved? Squinting, the lieutenant focused on the treeline ahead, noticing something flitting to and fro in the shade of the canopy, a muted crunch reaching his ears. Staring harder, he caught the outline of something—someone—darting between the trunks, the shape of a man.

" _Vas ist_...?" he mumbled, taking another step forward. A blast suddenly pelted the ground at his feet, sending him flying backward in shock. A streak of red and gold whizzed over him, the whine of shots arcing and hitting the other soldiers as they ducked and ran for cover. Clanging sounds echoed; as he rose up sharply, he could see a streaming cape of crimson and a current of electricity stunning a group who was returning from the outer perimeter. Followed swiftly by three others, two were blurs in black while the last was bedecked in armor of deep blue, red and white on his torso and a star at the center of his chest. No doubt was left in the lieutenant's mind as to the identity of the attackers when the final man flung his shield towards him, something he narrowly avoided and rolled out of the way of.

"The Avengers," the lieutenant breathed, horror rising in the pit of his stomach. Turning and dashing to the outpost building, he jabbed at the unfortunate soldier within, shaking him out of his stupor. "Call the base, now! Everyone, out!"

Belatedly remembering the gun hooked via strap over his shoulder, the man jumped out of the building, the call made in a desperate voice as he lifted the gun to his shoulder and began to take aim. The stock pressed firmly into him, he began to pepper the air with bullets, shooting straight at the grounded members of the enemy. Pings of metal hitting metal rang through the air, ricocheting away from the captain, but forcing the archer and the Black Widow to scatter for shelter. Confident in his attack, the remaining soldiers of his outfit began to follow his example. The clamor rose as they starting aiming into the air, driving back the two that were able to achieve forms of flight.

That is, until a great roar in the distance made them pause in their efforts.

"Oh, no," one groaned, a great green blur exploding from the thicket, gnashing teeth and meeting them full force.

 **xXxXxXx**

The alarm rang through the facility, the announcement delivered in a wavering voice as the remaining staff inside the base were alerted to the sudden presence of the Avengers. Wanda, who was waiting on Doctor List to perform yet another examination on her, raced away, finding her brother in an alcove, staring into the command center, his eyes dark and hooded. Rooting beside him, her gaze traveled to the surveillance displays, watching in silence as the swirl of nervous activity surged around them.

A camera on the eastern side showed one of the issued Jeeps, stolen now, rapidly tearing up the service road, coming up and cresting hills at an startling rate. Pulsing lights streaked around them as they disappeared off camera, red and gold followed by a streak of blue on a motorcycle. The camera was shaking as something trundled past it, a giant hand reaching into frame and crushing the lens violently as the feed went dead.

It was true. They had come. In spite of herself, Wanda began to tremble, her hand linking with Pietro's as they looked on. Their time had come, it seemed.

Strucker arrived then, clattering into the room and demanding to know which person had made the blatant announcement. Determining to have his troops concentrate on the weaker ones in the hope of stalling them, making them close up on one spot, he issued the order. The soldiers flew around, rushing to battle stations and tanks, desperate to stop the onslaught before they made it too close to the interior. List had arrived then, after searching fruitlessly for Wanda for a few moments before finding his commanding officer. His white coat did not mask the shake of his legs, his hands linked behind his back to still them. The baron bent his head, light reflecting off his installed monocle from the high window. Using the milling fear and shouts as a shield, they conducted a private conversation, one that Wanda and Pietro were close enough to listen in on. Curiously, they glimpsed one another, breath bated as they waited for the baron's pronouncement.

"The Maximoffs could do it," List recommended, his eyes bright at the prospect of the two proteges finally engaging in battle. However, Strucker gave him a dark look, quelling his excitement.

"Not yet, not now."

A cold, sick feeling sprang into Wanda's gut, her face a portrait of disbelief. It was one thing to understand the possibility of Strucker's distrust in their abilities; it was another to hear it confirmed. List's weak protests could not sway his mind, as she knew they wouldn't, her lips pressing into a thin line. Months and months of training, of agonizing experiments, of blood and tears and terror one day to the next, and they weren't ready? How could he say such a thing?! Glancing at Pietro's she noted his expression mirrored her inner feelings perfectly. However, he said nothing, did not raise so much as a word of protest. His hand went to her elbow, drawing her back and out of the room with him.

"Our chance, sister," he whispered to her, bringing her along as they shuffled down a set of stone steps. Pietro was going low into the fortress, towards the unused tunnel that led to the outer bunkers. The set of his jaw, the gleam in his eyes, told her all she needed to know of what he planned to do. "No matter what he says or orders."

Her words thrown back at her, she nodded, determined to keep her side of the promise. Clasping his hand hard for a second, she pulled away from his grasp. The time had come, for their revenge, to go home. And they would do so without Strucker's aid, the aid he had all but swore he would give them, so long as they did his bidding first. No more of that.

"I'll be back," Pietro told her.

Wanda nodded once more. "Go, now."

As he vanished into the darkness, she turned her attention to the floor above her, sensing the souls on the other side. Escaping the fortress would not be simple, but it was doable. Red mist swirled about her fingers as they twisted, and her eyes glowed an unearthly scarlet.

 **xXxXxXx**

Up until that point, Clint had thought the fight was going somewhat well. Better than some, worse than others, but still manageable. Along the road, they'd had to abandoned their stolen ride, he and Natasha, leaping into battle with their comrades over a blockade, the captain rising up on his stolen motorcycle and jumping over it as well. The others literally flew over it, the Hulk on a rampage while Tony's repulsors rocked around their foes. And Thor, well, he was driving forward, his purpose and intent clear as he went. Stark's cursing aside (boy, Steve would never hear the end of his reprimanding slip once this was over), there was little to distract from the fight, and he was glad for the focus. The detachment of the Iron Legion soared overhead, straight to their objective in protecting the citizens, barely registered as he ducked between trees, avoiding sprays of dirt and plying his trade well. As his arrows flew, he felt razor-sharp, his aim true and a sense of accomplishment beginning to flow through him. His friends were holding their own, even with heavy attacks and fire. All told, it wasn't so bad.

That feeling didn't last long.

When he spotted the camouflaged bunker unearthing itself from the snow and dirt, he was certain that one of his detonator arrows would be enough to disable it. From the shelter of the tree trunk, he waited, the lack of explosive noises jarring him. A dud, he'd thought at the time, a dud arrowhead. Stringing up another, he never saw it coming.

Never saw him coming. That kid...smug smirk, eyebrow cocked as he sauntered by, silver hair falling along his brow as he taunted him. All tight energy, all fire in his gaze, that all went into disorienting him, forcing him to the ground. In a flash, he was gone, well before Hawkeye could even think to notch another arrow, to even speak. And in a flash, pain ripped through Barton's side, white-hot fire burning through his suit as he fell to the ground. Distantly, he heard Nat call his name, felt her press a pocketed bandage to his wound as she groused about the bunker. Not able to help himself, Clint wheezed as the pain dug deeper, muscles and skin frying with the nerves. Attempting to stand, Natasha planted her palm firmly against his shoulder, forcing him to stay put.

"Damn punk..." he growled, wincing and groaning again as she withdrew a small bottle of antiseptic from a pouch on her hip, pouring some of it onto the wound. The chatter in his earpiece went unattended by him, Cap's assent to join Stark in the facility in the search for the scepter not enough to distract him from the pain. That kid...enhanced... _hurt_...

It wasn't part of the plan. It shouldn't have happened, and he was mighty angry with himself for letting some jerk like that young man destroy his focus in such short order. Weakly, he pushed against Nat's arm, muttering for her to stop, to go away and keep fighting. She refused to heed his demands, stepping away only when a crunch of boots forced her to her feet, running through the frost.

"It will be alright, Barton," a rumbling voice cut into his thoughts, an arm encircling his shoulders and hoisting him up off the ground. As the other steadied him, Clint let out a sharp breath, hand immediately pressing against the cloth on his torn side. Moaning, he shook his head as Thor began to walk him away from where he'd fallen to a more open spot in the tree canopy.

"Shouldn't be here," he grumbled, hissing as they went. The god should have been with Natasha, apprehending the remainder of the conquered stragglers. Local authorities had been called in, and they would need help getting them loaded up and hauled away. Taking time out for him was not necessary. "Go, I can handle..."

Thor shook his head, beginning to swirl his hammer and sending shocking reverberations through his body, shaking the archer. "My friend, it has already been decided. Come, now."

Not left with much of a choice, Clint hollered as they rocketed through the air, the pull on his body agitating the wound even more so than before. In a short amount of time, they'd made it back to the quinjet, Thor's other arm slinging behind his knees and sweeping him up. God, he hated traveling Thor's way. God, he hated how weak this all made him feel. Pressing a button along the wall, a thin stretcher sprang from within, and Thor assisted him in the removal of his overcoat, divesting him of his quiver quickly after settling him atop it. He pushed the archer to the center of the jet, two of the side seats removed so that the stretcher could be attached and stabilized to the console there. Waving towards the end, Barton recalled that the healing supplies were down towards the end. With a little difficulty, the god had located clean bandages, more antiseptic and other accoutrements as needed.

"Do me a favor, will ya?" he asked Thor as he started to replaced the soiled handkerchief with a proper dressing. As a seasoned warrior, the god had had plenty of experience binding wounds, and was a sight better at it than he. The god, surprisingly gentle as he peeled the blood-soaked cloth away, paused in his ministrations.

"Certainly."

"If this happens again, do me a solid and don't carry me anywhere bridal-style, okay?" Clint told him, grimacing as air hit the wound again. Struggling to keep his breath even, he went on, "It's weird."

The god snorted, nearly rolling his eyes. "And here I thought you would request that I not tell the others how much you screamed like a child on the way here. No matter."

Barton attempted a snicker. "Well, that too."

A moment passed, both of them chuckling a little at that. Seriousness flooded Barton's features, the pain beginning to subside as he was passed some painkillers. Swallowing them, he looked up into the bigger man's face, dipping his chin.

"I'm sorry."

Taking Thor away from that mission, even for a moment, was not something he'd wanted, and yet it had happened. It seemed liked ages that Thor had been searching for the scepter, and to have the chance ripped away...Barton felt like an ass. However, the god merely shook his head once more, standing tall as he began to assemble the pole needed for the IV drip.

"You've done nothing wrong," he murmured. Casting him one significant look, he continued with his task, muttering, "It would be more shameful to abandon a friend in need."

They could have left him, should have left him. Back in the day, when he was working for SHIELD, there were times when they'd had to leave someone behind in order to achieve the objective. No matter how broken, no matter how near to death and vulnerable, going back wasn't always an option. With this team, with these people, that would not happen. Clint could appreciate that, his head leaning back as he tempered his breathing further, lulling himself into a calm state.

 **xXxXxXx**

The truck rumbled as she started it up, warming the engine as she tossed in the two travel bags they'd had to make due with for months. With the remaining HYDRA soldiers in the base either dead or injured, Wanda was able to secure hers and her brother's belongings, her shimmering mist driving anyone in her way back or into madness as she went. However, she could not just leave yet. She had to find Pietro, somewhere in the labyrinth of a building. Jogging up an outer stairwell, she followed along the twists and turns of the halls, silence filling them where discord had only minutes ago. The light fall of her feet broke it, filled her with unease as she hunted for her brother, ready to flee for freedom. Voices, a harsh cry, grated on her ears, and slowly she changed course, headed down a hall with little illumination.

"Looks like I found the top dog of HYDRA," a man said, his baritone voice strong and unyielding. She heard feet shuffle, a little closer, and she stopped in her tracks, heart thumping in her chest.

"Last I looked, I was employed by SHIELD," the baron replied, his tone slightly flippant. The other man, by the sound of his answer, wasn't about to be humored.

"Check again. SHIELD doesn't exist any longer," he responded sharply. Resuming her slow pace, she could see at the end of the hall, leading into a foyer. Strucker stood facing her direction, expression sobering and smoothing down his dark clothes. The other man was of a height with the baron, perhaps a little taller, a shield decorated with a star and red bands on his arm, causing her to recognize and remember who he was swiftly. His blond hair was mussed; the captain had removed and discarded his helmet. She smirked to herself; the Avenger would regret doing that. "Where did you hide the scepter?"

The smile was wiped from her face. The scepter? Did he not care what all else Strucker had done, what HYDRA was doing? Was that all they wanted, the tool that had warped her and her brother into shades of their former selves? She felt slightly vindicated when Strucker offered himself up, with the hope of being treated better through his cooperation, and the captain coldly informing him that experimenting on humans would not do much in that regard. She shook her head, chastising herself for forgetting how single-minded people could be. As ever, the Avengers had an agenda; everyone did. It was just unfortunate to have that proven right. Staring at Strucker, she calmly, carefully moved into the room, the anger and determination beneath the captain's cold exterior flowing off him in waves. No, there was more to it than that. HYDRA had done more than just hide the scepter, transform others...they had threatened someone. Someone he cared for, someone he _loved_ , if she was reading him correctly, and threatened them recently. However, he was keeping a tight hold on that anger, and it was causing her to only see a haze of the facts in his mind. The sentiment would not sway her, though, no matter what. He was still Captain America. He did not deserve to be spared. None of the Avengers did.

Gathering strength, Wanda inhaled deeply, the red mist manifesting in her right palm as she came closer. With one strike, she sent the American toppling backward, head over heels down the staircase behind him. Strucker looked at her, a myriad of emotion in his face breaking the calm facade for a moment. In it all, she saw the briefest surge of hope. Sidestepping him, she glared at the baron as she left, barely avoiding tripping over the unconscious grunt on the floor. Backing through an open set of doors, she used her powers to slam them tightly and slide the bolt shut.

He was wrong to look to her for hope. Wanda Maximoff was friend to neither HYDRA nor Strucker, and now he finally knew. She would leave him to his fate, the fate of his own making.

The captain's voice filtered through the door, warning his team of her presence and to leave her be. Her eyes narrowed at the panels separating them. Good. He would not hope to survive another encounter unscathed, she mused, abruptly clattering down the hall behind her. Passing an open door, she spotted something tall and shiny standing, an arm extended out and sweeping left to right. Iron Man...or at least the armor. Stark was nearby. Wanda froze, unsure of what to do. She needed to find Pietro, needed to get them out of there before they were arrested or worse, but...her promise...

"Stark first," she whispered to herself, boldly stepping into the room. Flexing her fingers, the mist in her hand shot through the head of the armor, the eye slits of the mask dimming as the power was shut down. Temporarily, at least; she only did enough damage so that she could slip by without being noticed. A gaping hole was in the far wall, and she ignored the chirping computers to the side in favor of it. Another long descent, another long stairwell of stone, and she barely managed to repress a gasp. When they had moved from base to base, she knew that extensive cargo shipments followed them, bulky things that took up trucks and tanks and made the baron swear in pure rage when they were delayed, but she was never allowed to know the contents. Looking up at the massive creature, dead, suspended from large cables, she knew now. Something recovered from that battle three years ago, with the aliens...the metal bodies the scientists and researchers had been working on before jumping ship, they were all down here. And at the end of the room, she could see it, the object of so much torment and change: the scepter. Highlighted even in the low lamplight, it glowed, beckoning. Beckoning her...beckoning Tony Stark, who was taking hesitant steps towards it. Her face hardening, her wrists twisted, the aura strong around her as she traced behind him, silent as a shadow.

He called out to one of his teammates, enthused about his discovery, and his eyes were riveted to the object before him. The exuberant nature in him made him more susceptible to her power, open to the possibilities. He did not see her, did not hear her. She had the advantage, and would take it.

Beneath his smarmy exterior, she could practically smell the fear in his soul. It had burned his mind like a brand, never to be removed, never to be ignored. Fear...fear of losing everything...fear that everything he could lose would be his fault. That he was leading his friends and loved ones on a path of destruction, destruction that would leave them all open to death. All his fault, all his fault...

Wanda couldn't help the tiny grin that splayed across her lips as her fingers surrounded his head, pouring mist in one side and out the other. Stepping back, she slipped away, using the darkness to hide and to observe. Trapped in his own mind, Stark looked forward, helpless, lost in a nightmare fueled by the deepest, blackest parts of his soul. A whimper emanated from his mouth, tremors shooting down his body. His dark eyes were wide, his head and shoulders dipping down, bringing him to the floor. It only lasted for a few seconds, but to see the horror on his face, the terror in his eyes, it was enough for her for the moment.

Suddenly, he snapped up, breathing hard as he looked back, the leviathan hovering silently as it had been since he first entered the chamber. Looking forward again, he passed one hand over his brow, removing the sweat that had cropped up and and extending his hand out.

Another presence surfaced behind her, but she did not panic. Rather, Wanda preempted him from taking a step further, one hand raised and her eyes still glued to Stark. Pietro had found her, the tunnel entrance actually an off-shoot of the hidden chamber. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she saw the question surface in his eyes, unspoken. Her hand lowered, his gaze becoming just as riveted as hers as they watched Stark move. Circling the scepter, the older man had a grim set to his jaw, strength returning to his step.

"You can't just let him do that," Pietro crowed, a bit of a reprimand in his voice. They had made a promise to end Stark, and Wanda was willing to let him walk away? An armored gauntlet flew through the air, the suit most likely powered back on shortly after she had followed the older man down. It landed, spreading mechanically over Stark's arm, giving him the wherewithal to snatch the scepter up from its suspended case, out of the magnetized strips holding it upright.

Looking sideways at her, Pietro was slightly alarmed at the sudden, mad smile stretching Wanda's mouth, the fierce glint in her gaze.

Yes, she had made a pact with her brother. They would finish Tony Stark...and she would do it from the inside. She would let him ruin himself. Pivoting on her heel, she seized her brother's wrist, forcing him to follow. She had done her part. It was up to Tony to finish the work she'd started; she and Pietro would be waiting for it. For that to happen, though, they needed to leave.

"Let's go," she said, her brother following her light jog as they found another way out of the room, out to their freedom.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, we have arrived my friends. Hello, _Age of Ultron!_ And since we have arrived, I will say this from the outset. I am going to do my level best NOT to make this a word-for-word transcript of the movie (if you want to see that, please just watch it, then). However, that doesn't mean I'm going to not use some plot points from the movie...I'm disclaiming as not being mine. And as such, I have chosen to write the opening sequence from the movie from different perspectives. Namely, Wanda and Clint. We all know what happens, but I wanted to at least get into the minds of a couple of the ones who weren't totally the center of attention during that fight.

Sokovia's location is a guesstimate on my part. I could not find a fictionalized location for it other than "Eastern Europe", so I made one up for it.

No Holly in this chapter, save by the briefest of mentions (not by name), but she'll be back.

As always, I don't own anything from the MCU. I merely borrow...and make up character motivations as I go.

And because I've been asked, I want to clarify—Holly has known about and kept quiet about Bucky's protection for around a week and a half by this point. Not a month, or so it seemed I had indicated. I'm sorry for any confusion; I try to be as clear as I possibly can!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one.


	14. Chapter 14

The flight back to the quinjet was done in a daze; Tony hardly remembered retrieving the suit, exiting the HYDRA facility at full speed in a desperate attempt to escape what he'd just seen. The haunting images stayed with him as he landed, faced his friends on the snowy ground as they rounded up the last stragglers. With the scepter in his grasp, he could barely look Thor in the eye, a flash of vision showing him dead at his feet. Mutely, he let the scepter change hands, the whir and clanking of his suit as he moved away his answer to any queries the god might have posed. He was too shaken to even give Natasha anything more than a clipped nod as he climbed into the jet. Cap... _Steve_...was already there, tapping through the touchscreens to make contact with higher authorities in regards to Strucker's detainment. Him, he avoided entirely, the reproach, the pleading the other man had said in his dream echoing through his mind. Exiting and deactivating the suit, he fought to control his breathing, closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the bulkhead for a moment.

Even with the retrieval of the scepter, it would not alter the future. There were more threats to the world than few he knew about, more than he could quantify, and his vision had sharply reminded him of that. And through his actions, through his choices, he could end up destroying everything good and right, leaving the rest of humanity vulnerable to the evil surrounding it.

Tony Stark could only look on as his friends lay dead at his feet, unseeing eyes accusing as they stared up at him. The desolate, cold rock beneath his feet would not give way as he fell to his knees, watching the earth be consumed by Chitauri leviathans, by creatures he could not recognize and craft he did not identify. It was his fault. Nothing he'd done could save it, save them...it wasn't enough.

Gasping, shaking, the tone begged him, the voice of a friend turned to ash and gravel...

A hand laid on his shoulder startled him out of his reverie, made him sidle sideways in surprise. Steve stood there, immediately drawing his hand away and lifting it, palm out. A gesture of peace, one that he readily accepted.

"Tony?" the captain asked, brow furrowing as his sharp blue eyes looked him over. Concern, no reprimand, was to be found there. "You okay?"

Swallowing, Stark merely shook his head, pasting on a calm facade as he glanced up at his compatriot. Still alive...they were still alive; he had to focus on that. Otherwise, he might go crazy. Cutting a glance at Barton, dozing on his gurney and his patchwork bandaging visible, he lifted his eyebrows.

"Compared to some, I'm fantastic." A lie, but he counted on his natural ability to cajole and charm to carry it off. Nodding across the way, he managed a faint smirk as Thor gently set the scepter to rest in its new holding case, built specifically for it some time ago. "Even better now."

The captain followed his gaze, a half smile coming to his lips, but when he looked back at Tony, the other man could see that he wasn't completely buying his story. It had been a long, hard road for them all, culminating to this point, and he knew firsthand that nobody simply walked away from such a thing. However, Stark was in no mood to enlighten him about how sudden and deep the scarring was for him. It was too fresh, too new, and he couldn't explain it. Not yet.

Deep down, he knew that Rogers could appreciate that, too, and allow it to let it be. For the moment, at least.

Bruce stumbled in then, shivering from cold in his shredded pants and his skin threatening to turn blue. Wordlessly, he nodded to his companions, making a beeline for his designated locker in a feverish attempt to find adequate clothing. Natasha had followed, the platform rising behind her and closing them off from the elements. The last of the HYDRA soldiers had been arrested, and Strucker was in the custody of Novi Grad's armed forces, for the time being. Taking his cue from the last arrival, Tony sidestepped the captain, striding to the forward controls, ready to leave the nightmare behind.

"On that note, time to get the hell outta Dodge," he muttered. Pausing in his step, he shot a smarmy look over his shoulder at Steve, waving a hand superfluously in his direction. "Excuse me: _heck_ outta Dodge."

A derisive snort flew out of Rogers then, his eyes rolling. The mocking was anticipated; his slip of the tongue was definitely coming back to haunt him. "Of course."

The grin became a little more genuine, Stark's hidden horror lessening slightly as he took over the flight controls in Clint's stead. Concentrating, he warned the others of lift-off and quickly powered the quinjet up to the sky. He kept his focus on JARVIS's voice as the UI gave progress reports and commanded the Iron Legion away from the city, blotting out the others as they turned for home. Distractions, deflections, he recognized them for what they were. But for now, that was what he had to do. If he ever wanted to be able to walk away, he had to start here.

 **xXxXxXx**

Fingers weaved in and out of his dark hair, curling in and out as he was lost in his fog.

Bruce was always a little hazy after his time as the Hulk, even more so now that the lullaby was being used to force him into a cool-down. The development of the chemical compound had been a proud moment for him, even if it did not completely eradicate the Hyde from his Jekyll; the fact that anything could prevent him from being the Hulk longer than was necessary was wonderful, no matter what. Still, the change was always too quick, a little too violent, scrambling his mind and leaving him lost, broken. The shift, physical and mental, was draining, sometimes to the point of feeling near death as he became himself again. In the darkest reaches of his mind, he wondered if perhaps one day it would actually kill him. Maybe he would be the last of the Hulk's victims...

The last one, the only one he would never have to think about, never have to remember the horror in their eyes and the terrible screams piercing his soul.

Shaking his head to himself, he pressed his palms over the headphones clapped upon his ears, music drowning out the rest of the world. Anything and everything filtered through the sound pieces, the tones and melodies bringing him back to Earth in a way that nothing else could. It was universal, something that the anger and rage could not destroy, something that still connected him to the rest of humanity. Often, though, he chose opera arias; something about them brought to mind purity, articulation and pitch removing him as far from his base side as he could be removed. One melded into the next; Puccini, then Wagner, Bellini...he streamed as many as he could, letting them pull him deeper.

The aria playing now called for peace, peace from heaven to be spread over the earth. He could appreciate the sentiment; it one of the deepest longings of his soul, to know true peace again. To drive away the fury, to leave behind the "other guy" permanently and live his life as he intended, in a place where he felt no danger and was no danger. Granted, what little he knew of the opera the music originated from told him that peace and war were subject to human emotion and error in judgment, but still, in the end, it was still better to try for it than charge headlong into disaster.

In his peripherals, Bruce could see her moving, approaching him with a careful smile and a brightness in her eyes that could still touch him, even in his darkness. As sh knelt in front of him, he hastily removed the headphones, turning off his iPod to give her his full attention. Now that his faculties were under control again, he could do so. Well, most of his faculties, he acknowledged as his gaze focused on her, lingering on the fall of her red curls and the curve of her chin.

"It's good to know that the compound is still so effective. It worked so well this time," she said, pleasure in her tone. It was true; the application done at her hand was becoming more and more effective each time, and even he was able to notice how quickly it had performed. Part of him hoped it would remain so, though in all likelihood this was just the calm before it leveled out, the dose becoming weaker as he built immunity. The thought turned his stomach.

Glancing away, he grinned sadly. "Still, sliding into a 'code green' was not supposed to happen."

The team always planned for it, always awaited it, but when a code green took him over, it was never something that could be prepared for. What he really hadn't expected was turning when he did. When that HYDRA sergeant raised his weapon, sweeping across and spraying bullets to scatter them. When he had Natasha in his sights, aiming to shoot her as she ran. The well of anger had risen swiftly, and the Hulk could not be held back any longer, seeing her in danger. Rationally, he knew that the reasoning did not make sense; Natasha was perfectly capable of handling herself in the field, she was no damsel in distress. And he wasn't some knight in shining armor.

But in that moment, he couldn't help himself.

He said none of this to her, let her instead comment on how his actions were for the better, limiting casualties and in turn even saving Clint's life. Her tone hadn't changed, but there was a sweetness to her gaze, leavening the practicality within. It was a look he'd rarely ever saw he give anyone else, a look that smoothed away her hard edges and brought her down to the human plane with the rest of them. It made him feel like...like she could bring him back down with her, like the man did not hide a beast deep inside. Or that the beast was nothing to fear.

Bruce could not remember the last time someone had looked at him that way, and it made his heart beat faster as he considered it. She should fear him, but she didn't. Hadn't for a long time now. Rather, she included him, made him part of the world around them in a way that he hadn't felt he was for years.

But that did not excuse the fact that the beast did exist, and one day she would be afraid again. Cocking his head to the right, he let the words wash over him. Hearing about the good he'd done, despite all the damage he'd conversely wrought, did not sit well with him. In his mind, there was little good to be had when it was done by a mindless monster. He told her as much, his brown eyes holding hers for a long moment.

"I don't know what I did, but I would think you'd be able to trust me by now, Banner," she asked, expression becoming serious, contemplative. A short breath escaped him, his head shaking once, twice, as the answer came to him.

"Believe me, it has nothing to do with trusting you," Bruce nearly whispered as he confessed that. She stared at him for another second or two, examining him and seeing the truth that he believed about himself. It was a truth that would never go away, no matter how hard he wished it could.

Lowering her eyes, she turned to Thor, requesting a report on the Hulk. He'd been close at hand, peering closely at the scepter just a few feet away, and could easily give a reply. His ready compliance, however, was not reassuring.

"Hel echoes with the screams of the damned, all cursing the name of the Hulk."

Immediately his head dropped into his hands, and he could only dip his chin up and down as Thor tried to backtrack, softening his pronouncement with denials of death. Still, hearing about the "wounded" victims (mentioning gout at one point, which gave Banner an idea of how honest he was being) did nothing to assuage the guilt in his heart, and he doubted anything ever could. Peering through his fingers, he could see the captain standing just behind, looking to the ceiling of the jet with a mixture of disbelief and humor on his face.

Perhaps he should have handed Thor a shovel to help him continue digging his verbal hole. Or just use the shovel to end his own torment, whichever came first.

Stark cut in then, asking whether or not Doctor Cho could have permission to set up more of her equipment in his lab, deflecting the awkward conversation away. She'd been away for a week, tending to her laboratory back in Seoul and further prepping her transition to New York. He sighed, glad that Tony had his back in that regard. Shifting away from the woman still kneeling in front of him, he pulled the headphones back on, hitting play and missing the disappointment flash like lightning in her eyes. The aria rose again, and the world began to slip away.

Silently, Natasha rose, pacing back to Barton's side, pausing only to give Thor a hard thump on the shoulder as she went. Wincing slightly, an involuntary exclamation left his lips as she gave him a stern look. The god looked askance at her, but no further reply was forthcoming.

 **xXxXxXx**

Arriving back at the Tower in good time, Barton was immediately hustled away, Dr. Cho murmuring rapidly to her assistants as they pushed his gurney out of the quinjet to the medical bay. Nat followed hot on their heels, determined to stay at her friend's side. Thor, with the scepter tucked his arm, clattered away, with Banner exiting in the direction of the elevator. Inevitably he wanted a shower after tearing around and through dirt and dust; his microfiber pants were the only clothing to survive the transformation and would need a wash as well. Steve did not watch them go as he began to remove the medical supplies from the central console, storing them back in the containers. Kneeling down, he struggled to collapse a part of the floor to deposit a few more pieces of equipment. Maria Hill, all business, approached after the flurry died down, entering the jet confidently.

"Boss, I've got everything in the lab ready for you," she called, inclining her head in Tony's direction. The man in question, still at the helm, swiveled around in his chair, pointing lazily at the captain.

"If you want to get technical, I'm not the boss here," he replied, shrugging off the quick glance Steve darted at him over his shoulder. Effectively he was passing the buck onto Rogers, indicating that whatever data Hill had already dug through should go to someone else for the time being. He had limited time with the scepter; he wasn't going to waste it with minor details that could wait. "At this rate, I should declare myself the team's sugar daddy and be done with it."

The parting words launched, Stark gestured with a loose salute in the leader's direction, his rolling gait taking him to a side panel which he began to intentionally fiddle with. Finishing with his task (and blatantly ignoring the mock gesture), Steve got to his feet, all attention on Maria.

"Has Strucker been taken care of?" he asked, walking with her out of the hangar bay. Though he had been left in capable hands, Steve knew how slippery HYDRA agents could be. He would rest easier if the baron was apprehended by higher authorities, and quickly. In that regard, Maria was able to assuage him.

"They're processing him as we speak."

He barely paused, his relief buried deep under a layer of intensity. "There were a couple of Enhanced kids in the field. What about them?"

With those two taking the field during the fight, the team was curious as to who—what—exactly they had faced in Sokovia. As data had been mined and forwarded via JARVIS, the agent-turned-assistant back at the base had set about the task to answer those questions directly. What Maria had to say about the twins was not very encouraging. Handing over her tablet, she let him scroll through archived video footage of the pair at a protest, their home after it was wrecked by a rogue shell, medical records. Wanda and Pietro, they were called. The Blur and the Witch, as a derogatory report Steve scrolled by had named them. With Struker experimenting on the Maximoffs, combined with their recent exploits as activists and protesters, there was no doubt in his mind that the two would make a play in the near future. "Fast and weird" did not begin to cover what the twins were capable of.

After all, they did place themselves willingly in the hands of manipulators and madmen for the sake of their country, if the files were anything to go by. They had the strength and the will to do a lot of damage. He understood that mentality all too well.

It all depended on when and where they chose to make their mark.

Leaving Hill in the hangar hall, he took the elevator to the equipment floor, intent on shedding his uniform and changing into less bulky clothing. Laying a hand to the scanner, the wall opened up, a storage locker sliding out seamlessly. Glancing at the shirt and trousers he'd abandoned in his haste earlier, he noticed his personal tablet slipped onto the floor at some point. Grumbling to himself, he swooped down to pick it up, the blinking light of a notification catching his eye. One missed video call. Tapping through it, he maneuvered blindly away from his storage space, waiting impatiently as he attempted to return the call. A few seconds and fumbling taps through the microphone later, it connected, and he smiled at the familiar face filling the screen.

"Hey, doll," he greeted. Holly's answering grin was just as wide as his, just as happy to hear from him as he was to see her.

"Hey. I called earlier to check in, but you were out still," she responded, one shoulder shrugging. She sat back in her chair, the telltale creak of it giving it away as her office one (if the metal cabinets behind her didn't gave away her location already). Her dark brown eyes peering closely at the screen, flicking over the image of his face. "Looks like you're all in one piece."

He tipped his head to the left, smirking a bit. "More or less."

"Thank God," she breathed in a near whisper. The depth of relief in those words made his heart ache a little; he knew how much she worried for him while he was on mission. Taking a second to inhale, she gave him an inquisitive look, lifting her eyebrows playfully. "How much more or less? Gotta budget for tux alterations if that's the case. Particularly if something happened to your legs."

He barely managed to cut off a barking laugh, turning down the hall towards the stairs. Morbid humor didn't always have a place, but in the moment, it served to lessen the residual worry in her tone and steer the conversation away.

"I could always go the traditional route in that regard; I wear a kilt, it'll cover everything."

She wrinkled her nose, snickering. "Provided there aren't any strong winds. I thought that was a Scottish thing."

Steve shook his head. "It's a Celtic thing, dear. That covers the Irish, too."

"Well, not to naysay the culture, but I think we could do without that tradition for the wedding," Holly demurred, free hand flicking a few fingers towards the ceiling. Even with her smile remaining, the set of her gaze was sincere as she continued, "But seriously, you're okay?"

Climbing the steps now, he inclined his head slightly. "Scrapes and bruises are the worst of it for me."

Her head tilted to the right in acknowledgment, her brow furrowing a little as she digested that news. "And the others?"

Steve exhaled slowly, pausing in his ascent for a second. "Barton took a hit."

Her palm covered her mouth, eyes going wide. Her reaction was unsurprising; she and Clint had started to form a bond over the last several weeks during her self-defense training. Naturally, she would be concerned about him, too.

"Oh, my God. How is he?"

Continuing his climb, he glanced over at the far walls, the glass panels barely providing no shelter at the moment. Tony was in the front laboratory, focus intent on the scepter hovering before him. In the far room, he could see Barton laying atop an examination table, some device jerry-rigged over him, spraying tissue substitute over his wound. Both doctors were at his side, nodding and responding to a question he'd asked.

"Helen's looking at him now, using that alternative to the Cradle that she has," he told her, flipping the screen briefly in an attempt to show her. Turning it back to himself after awhile, he sighed. "He'll recover. Good thing he'll have the time."

"Oh, not rushing off immediately for the next base for once?" Holly joked weakly, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. Off Steve's earnest look, she blinked, smile slipping slowly. "What?"

"HYDRA is too broken to be a real threat now," he told her, arriving in one of the private sitting areas. The reality of the statement was beginning to wash over him now, pushing him down into a chair and drawing his focus to the far wall.

"So...what are you saying?" Holly asked tentatively, as though she feared she would tempt fate by speaking. "...It's over?"

Instant denial sprang on his tongue, but he managed to swallow it down. If it wasn't over yet, it was very nearly so. The enormity of the thought pressed upon him. For over seventy years, HYDRA had been a secret threat to everything he, and the world, held dear. To discover that they had survived after his fall was disheartening. To realize that the team would be able to end them permanently was astounding. Sinking further into his seat, he let out a deep sigh.

"There are still threats out there, but that's one less to worry about for the time being," he murmured cautiously. Drawn back to the screen, he watched as Holly's mouth opened and closed a few times, words and emotions struggling to get out and not succeeding.

"That's...I don't know what to say," she replied, passing a hand over her brow and sliding her fingers back into her hair. Steve dipped his chin, rolling his shoulders back.

"Trust me, I know the feeling," he said, voice somewhat faint as the rush of feelings threatened to overwhelm him. Clearing his throat and trying to push them down, he went on, "Anyway, in light of that fact, Tony's planning on throwing a party in a few days. Sort of a farewell thing, in Thor's case, since he'll be headed back to Asgard for awhile."

A corner of her mouth lifted. "Poor Jane. And of course there's a party. Can always count on Stark to celebrate even the most minor victory with a major shindig."

"Or revels, as Thor called them, which will probably give you an idea of the likely scale of events on Friday," he responded, combing his fingers through his hair. Tipping his head shyly, he asked, "You interested in going?"

For a moment, she tapped a finger to her chin, giving the matter some thought. Narrowing her eyes, it was impossible to miss the glint in her gaze. "I suppose it would be awkward for me to not show for it, considering I'll be up for the weekend anyway, huh?"

"A little bit," Steve conceded, mirroring her faux contemplative look. Cupping the air, she dashed the look away with a wave of her hand.

"Well, then, that's settled." It would take some finagling, given that she would have to leave D.C. early to arrive on time for it, but she could make it happen. "I'll be there, parading you on my arm with pride."

Steve snorted at the mental image that cropped up from that statement. "No need for the parade."

"Fine," Holly said, brushing the idea away. Leaning her chin into her hand, her expression softened. "Would you settle for a dance instead?"

A piece of his heart simultaneously ached and swelled at the invitation. "Sure."

"Super swell." Holly gave him a clipped nod, her wide smile encouraging him to return it. Raising an eyebrow at her choice of words, he chuckled under his breath.

"Great. Sam will be in town, too." Steve had not heard from him in a couple of weeks, and he wanted to rectify that. It had been a flyby call, both of them needed elsewhere (Sam at the VA, Steve having to catch the quinjet for a mission), but they were able pass updates regarding each other's lives. Amongst the things shared was that a family member required Sam's presence at a function that weekend, bringing him back to the Big Apple. He couldn't rightly remember what for, but he could always ask him if he chose to come to the party as well. "Something to do with his cousin, but I'll ask him to swing by."

Concentrating on the toe of his boot, his brow creased in thought at considering the other things they needed to touch base on.

"We need to talk about the progress with the, um, missing person case, probably sometime later in the weekend." Wary for prying eyes and ears, he couldn't risk referring to the ongoing circumstances about Bucky's disappearances in any other way. "I want to get a jump on that, since I'll have a little more time now."

Glancing back at the screen, he witnessed the quickest flit of emotions in her face. It had occurred a few times recently, not enough to register as something wrong but enough to get his attention when it did happen. Something was on Holly's mind, something that she was not sharing. It didn't sit well with him; in all honesty, it made him nervous to see it. Whatever was going on, it was important enough for her to want to keep a lid on it.

"Right. Good thinking," she commended him, her tone a bit more wooden than he would have expected. His eyes narrowed a bit, scanning her for another reaction. When none was forthcoming, he exhaled slowly.

"You okay?" Steve inquired, wanting to get to the heart of the matter, finally. However, she would not be led into a confession; even though he knew better, he considered it worth the chance to give her the opening to speak. She half turned her head to the right, eyes cutting towards something beyond the screen of the device she was using (phone, he had to guess), shrugging slightly.

"Yeah. It's just that I'm at work." She gave him a weary grin, the look in her gaze saying more than words could. "If I get caught..."

A true statement, as well as a deflection. He groaned inwardly when he realized it, but upon checking the clock on his tablet, he thought better than to push it. "Best not give your boss more ammunition to use against you."

A smirk decorated her lips. "Much as I'd rather talk to you than go over reports, I'd better get cracking."

"Glad to know where I stand," he riposted, her answering scoff coming fast on his heels.

"As if there was any doubt about it. I'll call you when I get home, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan," Steve concurred, closing his eyes momentarily. "I'll be around for it; I'll be neck deep in data myself for the next few days, giving Nat a hand while Barton's recovering. Definitely won't be going anywhere."

It couldn't be said that he had happily volunteered for the job, but he knew that Clint did not need to exert himself or put strain on his wound unduly, even to trek between floors to meet with Nat and filter through the numerous files accrued. It would keep him busy, at least; it wouldn't be likely he'd see much of Bruce or Tony in that time, as both of them would want to investigate the scepter's components and powers in the short time that they had. However, he wasn't altogether pleased to do paperwork.

"You'd welcome the distraction?" Holly's eyes were hooded as she spoke, her hair shifting and framing her face in soft waves as she leaned forward slightly. The promise in her tone stirred him, and he couldn't help the slow burn that made its way down his body.

"Gladly, doll," he told her, the timber of his voice deepening, her eyes darkening in want and anticipation.

Upon the hope of those words, the couple signed off their devices. On her end, Holly tossed the phone away from her, it landing with a thump on the stack of papers beside her monitor, thoughts pulling away from the edge little by little. They came to rest on his proclamation to refocus on the issues with Barnes, to get back into the loop with his partner. She had been honest when she told her fiance it would be good to meet up with Sam, even if she did not sound like she meant it. With both of them in the same vicinity, she could take the time to relay what she knew about Bucky, instead of having to rehash the story (as she knew would be the case). They both needed to know, and she did not want to keep the truth hidden any longer.

After the party, she told herself, leaning forward to open a new document on her computer. She would tell Steve everything then. She did not want to spoil the team's public victory, or his private one. It could wait for just a little while longer.

* * *

 **A/N:** A tad bit late...I had a sudden couple of work shifts thrust upon me, so it made a slight delay in posting. Worry not, it has arrived!

This chapter straight up kicked my butt. Seriously. But I was able to get it churned out.

We haven't heard from Tony in awhile, and he wanted to be the opener for the chapter. Granted, not the happiest of openers, but the fact that he pretty much saw his friends die before his eyes and then has to go on like it wasn't a traumatic vision was intriguing. Also, I wanted to touch on Bruce for a bit as well.

I own nothing of the MCU, nor the opera _Norma,_ which the aria Bruce listened to on the quinjet comes from.

Next chapter...party time, oh yes.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	15. Chapter 15

Smoothing down her dress, she could hardly wait a moment longer to slip away, weaving through the crowd. Having been to a Tony Stark party once before, it shouldn't have surprised Holly to see the upper decks of the Tower swamped with people. The large open area was bathed in warm tones, the lighting low enough to soften the harsh angles and glass edges of the space. Multiple lounge spots dotted the floor, the focal point being the bar along the inner wall. A second, more intimate area with high table and stools graced the lower level, shades darker there than anywhere else. Naturally, Stark was living up to his reputation, with all walks of life flocking to his door. The evidence was before her eyes; young professionals, artists, technology giants, and war veterans milled about the space, occupying couches and stools at the bar, forming up around the pool table, dancing off to the sides of the room. Factions formed and broke, circling on and off around the major players in the room. A part of her was nervous about being surrounded by even more unfamiliar people, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. After a five hour drive, though, she was wondering if it maybe she shouldn't cry off and just bunk down in the captain's quarters, sleep through it.

 _'I don't fix my face and my hair and wear a dress for nothing,'_ she reminded herself, brushing a nonexistent wrinkle out of the skirt, deep purple the color of choice for once. Although nicer clothing was encouraged, she was pleased that formal dress was not a requirement for the evening. Maria stood out in fiery red, offset by Helen's royal blue, both women standing out in a sea of little black dresses. Thor in turn looked something like a cosmopolitan pirate, his sweeping burgundy coat and tied back hair turning many of the ladies' heads. For several men, a leather jacket and dress shirt was the combination of choice, her fiancé included, if they did not choose to go the smart suit route (Tony, as always, emulated class outwardly with his pressed black shirt and jacket). Across the room, she spotted Nat adjusting Dr. Banner's tie, tweaking it as she walked off and laughed, missing the long look he gave her. Or so he must have thought until she glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled slowly, eyebrow arching perfectly.

 _'Oh,_ _ **that's**_ _new,'_ Holly thought, shifting her gaze when Nat suddenly shot a look at her, catching her out. Smirking, she held her drink a little more tightly as she went, wondering if there would ever be a lull in the activities for her to approach the Black Widow and at least inquire about the recent developments in her life (if not tease her a little for her clever antics). Letting her mind ponder the possibilities, she kept moving along. Picking her way across the floor slowly, she focused on her guiding point. It helped that her partner was over six feet tall; finding him was never too difficult. Besides, he hadn't left his friend or the pool table in quite some time. As he and other witness Sam scratching, she was close enough to hear him grumble at his friend's misfortune.

Spotting her approach, he grinned as Holly sidled up beside him. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," she replied, tucking back the loose strands around her face, the rest gathered in a low bun. Finishing with her task, she smirked and nodded to the table. "You doing any better, or are Marty and Simon still kicking ass?"

When she'd departed earlier, with the idea of catching up at least with Maria and Natasha in mind, she'd left the men pairing off into teams after a couple of one-on-one rounds. She'd been introduced to the older fellows back at New Year's, when they'd come at Stark's behest and presented him with a veterans' cap. They were proud to have "one of their own" still serving the world, Steve's humble thanks to them reverberating in memory.

"And taking names, as my grandson likes to say," Simon announced happily, shooting her a wink as he passed behind them to the opposite side of the table, cane in one hand and cue in the other. He tipped his tan veterans' cap at her, eyes twinkling behind the thick glasses. Steve grinned, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Game's not over yet, pal."

"You keep gumming the works like you have been, it will be," Marty groused in good nature, adjusting his aviator sunglasses before lining up his shot. Blowing out a puff of air, it stirred his mustache even as he went still. Hitting the cue ball squarely, it bounced against the other with a solid clack. Giving a crow of delight as it flew into the corner pocket, the old man shot a significant smirk in Sam's direction, who only shook his head and stepped backward to give the fellow space to line up his next shot.

"Thought you were gonna go mingle for a while," Steve murmured to her, watching as Marty sank another ball into the pocket. His muted groan of frustration was low in his throat, and made her giggle at his plight.

"I was. I did. But then the conversation got a little...sidetracked." Off his curious glance, she shrugged and took a sip of her drink before answering it. "Tony and Thor got into a bragging war about Pepper and Jane. Had to duck away from the crossfire while I could."

After being introduced to Colonel Rhodes, she'd stuck around to hear his story regarding a captured tank his general flipping a lid over its loss. With his War Machine armor, retrieval was no issue, but he wanted to give the general something of a show. Though the punchline of the story was lost on his companions—Thor had expressed confusion, while Tony blandly sipped his drink and quirked his lips—she thought it was funny. However, the real turn had come when Maria lamented about the lack of ladies ("Hey now," Holly had rebuked her, to which she'd responded with a teasing glance and made Holly chuckle), allowing Tony to expound about his partner running a company full-time, and thus making it impossible for her to come on such short notice. The god had chipped in, unsure of Jane's location but absolutely certain of her making achievements wherever she was. Once he 'subtly' mentioned the forthcoming Nobel Prize that could be awarded to her, Holly took it as a sign to leave. Hill's own parting shot to both fellows amused her, at least; there definitely was quite a bit of testosterone in the mix.

Steve took one look at her inclined eyebrows and snorted. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. I don't blame them for being proud," Holly said, her grin lessening a bit. In truth, she did share their opinions regarding Jane and Pepper—they were powerhouses in their own right. A finger hooked in the chain around her neck, moving down to fiddle with the dog tags there. "They are pretty amazing."

Steve's gaze narrowed slightly, his mind deciphering what she meant by that. In her demeanor, he couldn't sense any dissimulation. But he knew her, knew that she believed the moniker given to her by the gossips and the forums. "Miss Everyday". As herself, she was nothing special, just another person. How she could buy into that, he did not know, but he was willing to set that record straight.

"They're nuts," he told her, just as Marty's ball banked off the side and stopped too short of the pocket he was aiming for. Squinting a bit at him, she considered his angle.

"How so?"

His baby blues trailed over her, looking at her in a way she'd known no other man to look at her before. Cutting his gaze back to the table, the warmth in it was directed to the game. Bending at the table's edge, he lined up his shot, fixing his stance.

"Best gal around is right here and they don't even know it."

The cue struck, splitting apart the opponents' balls and in turn knocking one of his into the side pocket. Sam clapped his hand against his own pool cue, the other fellows mumbling and falsely groaning at his luck. As Steve straightened, he could see beneath the bemused expression the measure of affection she held for him.

"You're good," she said, chin dipping as though she'd meant his prowess at the game. Steve inclined his head, not having it.

"I'm honest," he countered. She snickered at that, but the wealth of feeling in her expression rose, spreading through her.

"Biased, more like," Holly indicated, coming close again. Stretching a little (her black wedge boots did give her a couple inches, but not enough to meet Steve eye to eye), she brushed a peck on his cheek. Her whisper ghosted over his ear, a shiver shooting down his spine. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

He said nothing, just gave her a lopsided grin as she pulled away. Tipping her glass to him in a toasting manner, she drank from it, savoring the taste before finding an opening in the stream of people and moving through the crowd again. He watched her go, the sway of her hips in that dress as she walked hypnotizing him for several seconds. A couple of throats cleared, and a rush of heat sprang to his face, recalling him to the present moment. He had another shot to take. Staring down at the pool table, he analyzed it for his next move.

"Just let your good luck charm walk again," Marty muttered, leaning on his cuestick and pointedly ignoring the couples' exchange. Wasn't any of his business, really, and he wasn't about to step on the moment. Still, the captain's playing was bound to suffer as a result of her departure. Eyes darted up to look at him, the glint in the gaze taking an aggressive glare.

"We'll see about that."

 **xXxXxXx**

Hawkeye had closed his eyes, lolling his head back as he sank into his chair. It had only been a couple of hours, but it felt like so much longer than that. He'd been chatting, greasing wheels, examining the crowd without taking a breather. Not required to entertain as others were, he was more than willing to just rest and be, the cluster of couches he occupied delightfully abandoned as the party-goers began to thin slightly. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Clint held back a grumble, letting the lids retract slowly. However, it wasn't a random stranger bothering him this time; his erstwhile pupil had come to greet him. Happily, he grinned and rose from his chair.

"Gracie Lou."

"Mister Miyagi," Holly replied, moving in for an embrace.

Gingerly, he slung an arm over her shoulder, hugging her with his good side. Though the wound had healed for the most part, it had been a bit sensitive that day, so he was doing his best to take it easy. Part of him worried the simulacrum tissue would come apart, but so far it had bonded well. He wanted to keep it that way.

Holly gave him a relieved grin, happy to see him all in one piece. When Steve had told her how he'd been injured, she'd felt sick to her stomach, nervous for her new friend's condition. Having observed him when Steve and she had first arrived, she'd thought he'd looked well enough, but did not want to intrude while he spoke quietly with Doctor Cho.

"Suppose we're gonna have to take it easy on the training this weekend, huh?" she remarked a corner of his mouth turning up at her weak joke. His responding expression held a bitter twist, causing seriousness to surface in her eyes. "They really did a number on ya, didn't they?"

The brief flash of hurt and anger surfaced in his face, not easily disguised, though with his training he'd smothered it rather quickly. Still, he'd let her see how much it infuriated him, how much he wished it hadn't happened. Not for his peace of mind, but…but for others. That, however, he didn't say.

"It happens every so often," he confessed instead, brow furrowing for a moment. Walking away from a battle without a scratch was too rare for anyone, but the Maximoffs had caused him to be cut deep and quick. Shrugging a shoulder, he tipped his head to the side. "But at least I know what to expect if we run into those kids again."

Holly's eyebrows inclined. "Kids?"

"They were roughly your age," Clint clarified. "Maybe a couple years younger, actually."

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her mouth into a mock frown. A previous statement of his resurfaced then. "Anyone under thirty, right?"

"Yep." The single word was accompanied by a decisive nod, and he snickered when she audibly scoffed at him.

"Why is thirty the magical threshold for adulthood?" she wondered, not for the first time. Clint just laughed again, chucking her on the shoulder.

"You'll know when you get there, grasshopper," he teased, gesturing with his free hand and inviting her to walk with him around the floor. She snorted, but followed him away from the bank of couches.

"Whatever you say, sensei," she retorted.

Across the room, Steve and Sam had finished their tournament with the veterans, conversation turning from the mundane to the details of the battle as they meandered over to the bar. As his drink was being fixed, Sam listened as Steve gave him the run-down, letting out an appreciative whistle when he was finished.

"Damn. Too bad I missed out on that battle," Sam said, scooping up his tumbler and dropping a tip in the jar for the bartender. Turning away from the bar, the pair made their way up to the upper crosswalk.

"Didn't know it was going to turn out that way. Next time, I'll bring you in," Steve told him, a chuckle at the back of his throat shading the words. Immediately, Sam held up a hand, preempting him from going further.

"No, no. That's alright, no need for that," he said, dropping his voice a couple notches and making Steve laugh outright. Dipping his chin once to the girl passing them on the stairs (pretty one, too; he'd have to find her again later), he continued, "I've got my hands full enough with tracking down the...missing person. You can take care of saving the world."

He paused at the railing then, looking out over the space. Here and there he could see the other members of the team. Thor appeared to have rallied a group of young ladies, politely stepping back every so often when one would press forward. Doctor Cho, near at hand, couldn't help glaring whenever this happened, but she was too far away for Sam to see that clearly. Tony and Bruce were off in a corner, seemingly in a serious conference. And near the windows overlooking the quinjet's docking bay, Clint and Natasha were trading words with Holly, it seemed; well, more so with each other, as the brunette appeared to be watching them go back and forth as one would watch the volleys of a tennis match. The setting in which they were all mixed, the music playing in the background, the flowing drinks and continued flow on conversation, warred so much with his knowledge of what they were capable of. He sighed outright, staring down into it without seeing.

Swallowing some of his drink, Sam leaned against the railing, inclining his head towards Holly's position across the room. "So, getting ready to be roped into more wedding stuff? How is all that going to work out, by the way, once it's done? I can't imagine you'll be staying in D.C."

A dip of the chin acknowledged the point on his friend's part, and Steve gestured with a palm up to the air.

"There's nothing definite planned yet, but moving closer to New York is something we're seriously considering."

Granted, Holly wouldn't be pleased to have to apply for a new job, which she had given him an earful about, but after a long discussion (which he did not care to repeat), they'd both arrived to the conclusion that staying put in the capital would be unnecessarily straining and stressful for both of them. Besides, she'd conceded the point that she would move under the right circumstances several weeks past, and could put up with a job search. And given how increasingly dissatisfied her boss was becoming with her ongoing notoriety, she feared such a thing would have to happen sooner rather than later, anyway.

Sam's eyebrows inclined, his tone inquisitive. "That could mean anywhere, including New Jersey and Maryland. Will any of the boros make the list? What about Brooklyn?"

Steve inhaled sharply, stopping himself short from a snort. "Even with both our savings, affording a place in Brooklyn is unlikely."

That was true. He'd already looked into it, discreetly…and she'd sneaked it into her own Internet searches too, giving him only a small smile when he noticed in pop up in the search bar. (To be fair, she's searched around St. Paul and Minneapolis as well; though not even near the coast, she couldn't help wanting to take a gander at houses, for comparison, she'd claimed). The neighborhood he'd grown up in had altered and changed with the times, including the housing prices. The average cost came around $600,000 (minimum for the smallest of places, which even after his time spent in the modern world blew his mind a bit), and he wasn't certain they would find something at that price point. More than likely it would end up being higher, and future payments, taxes, and upkeep made him nervous to think about. Renting wasn't much better, as everything was meant to be higher end by design. However, something Holly and he had agreed on was that they wanted to buy, not rent.

They wanted a home of their own. Roots, a life together in a place of their choosing.

Even with military back-pay and the gratuity pay given after the collapse of SHIELD, he was unsure that with Holly supplementing the income they could keep a house in the borough for many years. Some of his previously accrued income had gone towards veterans' associations over the past few years, so there wasn't as much to draw from as one might think. The money that remained wouldn't last forever, and he hated to say it, but with the circumstances changing, his own employment wouldn't be as consistent as it had been. And with a wedding to budget for as well…

Sam gave him a wistful look. "Fair enough, you guys will need to be able to afford a place of your own. Might as well start somewhere fresh, right?"

A place, he'd said...a home, he meant. It was a word that Steve had used so rarely in the past three years, the definition lost in time as so many other things in his life. But that didn't mean it was gone forever. He could build again, find his place. Find it with her by his side. It just took courage, strength to take the first step.

Unable to refute Sam's words, Steve just let it be, focusing on nothing but the far wall, a blur of purple dancing in and out of his notice.

 **xXxXxXx**

Bruce stared down into his glass, the sweet and tart tastes of the Metropolitan dancing on his tongue. They mingled on the sweet and tart words exchanged with another red, her bright eyes promising and her tone true, despite the playfulness overlaying it. She never did say what she would do. Would she fight against the force pulling them together, tight concentric circles moving ever faster towards the center, or would she let herself be swept up in the tide...swept up with him? Banter aside, he did know what he wanted, what he thought was too good for him to have. But would she give in, too?

When he looked up again, to watch her retreating form as she carved a path away from the bar, he looked directly into the eyes of the captain, an unwitting witness to Romanoff's skilled flirtations and his attempts to meet her word for word. Sam, Master Sergeant Wilson, had departed roughly twenty minutes earlier, and so freed him up to wander and observe a bit more. A harsh flush invaded the doctor's face, and immediately he glanced away, ready to deny, to bury it. However, Rogers wasn't about to let the matter drop. Quickly attempting to smooth ruffled feathers and calm Bruce down, he indicated how it wasn't against any rules made by the team. It was just that Natasha seemed very comfortable with him. The tone of his voice implied more to the statement, that it was different with Bruce, that she could let herself go, sounded too sweet to his ears.

"She's like that naturally," Bruce excused, gaze dropping to his shoes and a bitter grin on his lips. He ran a hand through his rough, dark curls, the lines in his face more pronounced the more he denied it. It was just...something to pass the time. Couldn't be serious, no, no...not with him. "Flirts as much as she breathes. Nothing to do with me."

Reaching over the bar and withdrawing a bottle of beer for himself, Steve shook his head gently.

"I understand how true that is, trust me," He smirked, a flash of memory coming over him in that moment. However, in comparison to his memories, he knew that in those few precious seconds with Banner, Nat was far more genuine with him than she'd ever been with the captain, or anyone else for that matter. Far more like her true self, not the artifice she put up to throw off the world and keep people at bay until she could trust them. "Believe me, this is different."

About to walk away, Steve hesitated in his path, sighing under his breath. The uncertainty in Bruce's gaze, the troubled set of his countenance, made him want to reach out, drive his point home.

"Look, as someone who knows firsthand, don't wait too long. And second chances don't just fall off of trees," he said, glimpsing the flash of purple again as it rounded the bottom of the stairs and moved towards the lower decks. Feeling his gaze on her, Holly glanced over her shoulder, a corner of her mouth lifting before she disappeared from sight. Exhaling slowly, Steve turned a bit and nodded in the direction that Natasha had gone, sincerity coming from his core. "If you took a shot, I don't think either of you would regret it."

A second or two of silence, and then Banner dipped his chin, the message heard loud and clear. Steve didn't even glance back as he walked away, intent on his destination. With the smattering of people left dispersing, it wasn't exactly difficult to locate her. However, it wasn't her intent to lead him on a wild goose chase. Going down the short flight of stairs to the lower deck, he found her leaning against a tall table near the window, the nightlights of the city illuminating her from behind. Brown eyes were tracking him as he drew closer, mouth curving in a grin.

"Hey, good lookin'. Got a minute?" she called out, more strands slipping out of her bun, wisps of waves framing her face. Pausing, he pretended to give the matter some thought.

"I can spare a few," he responded, shrugging, to which she merely gestured him forward. Cracking open his beer, he took a pull from it, setting it down and maneuvering around the table to get near her once more. Reaching out, he trailed his palm down the exposed skin of her arm, soft and yielding to his touch. His arms encircled her, bringing her flush against his body, a slow burn crawling out and down from his heart. Hands cradled his head, drawing him down, his mouth connecting with hers. Lips parted, allowed him to deepen the embrace, the sweep of his tongue causing a tremor to rock through her. A moan reverberated at the back of his throat when she reciprocated. His grip curled into the folds her dress, his hold tightening as she popped the first button on his shirt, the pads of her fingers leaving a tingling trail along his clavicle and neck as she slipped them under the fabric. Eventually they had to slow, catch their breath, and Steve rested his forehead against Holly's when the time came, trying to not go over the edge right then and there. Though it was impossible for him to be drunk, he found moments like these to be intoxicating. Although, he couldn't deny that the stuff Thor had dripped into his whiskey earlier had a bit of a kick to it (it knocked Marty for loop, with him being assisted out of the Tower by the serving staff). Still, this was stronger.

"Doll," he breathed, the name a gentle caress over her lips.

"How much longer do you want to stick around?" she asked, her hold tightening on his shirt, tugging to bring him back for another kiss. Willingly obliging, he indulged, her eagerness driving them on for several long minutes. Coming to a stop once again, he swallowed with some difficulty, forcing himself to focus.

"For a little while, at least. Much as it kills me to say it," he said, sighing heavily. Tony had already gone around to the others, the promise of an after-party once the final guests cleared out beckoning to them. Leaving wasn't an option just yet; after all, Thor would be off-world again in a few scant hours, and nobody knew when he would be back. It would be best to spend time as a united team, for one more evening. She sighed, acceptance on her features, even if the burn wasn't remotely subdued.

"Kills me to hear it, but we'll make it," she said, tracing a pattern idly over his chest, heartbeat quickening as she did so. Gently, she tapped him, smirking. "You still owe me a dance, by the way."

Cocking his head to the right, he let the overhead sound system churn on, the tracks having switched from a funkier modern set to smooth jazz. Taking her hand in his, he began to turn them in a circle, stepping carefully, cherishing the closeness, the feel of her body as they turned, the love in her eyes as she glanced up, palm against his heart.

 **xXxXxXx**

Sitting along the back of the couch, her feet planted firmly in the cushions, Holly rested her arm on Steve's shoulder, a bottle of cider perched in the other hand. Her fiancé's hitherto abandoned leather jacket had resurfaced, resting over her legs ("Covering the unmentionables," Tony had joked, Steve giving him a muted glower). The rest of the team had congregated there, the coffee table littered with empty bottles and even some fondue accouterments that were unused, miraculously. Helen, exhausted, was curled up in an armchair, with Barton and Maria lounging on the floor across the way. Colonel Rhodes—Rhodey, as he was called—was chatting with Stark about some possible upgrades to his armor, and Natasha was debating microbrews, of all things, with Doctor Banner. Conversation filtered in and around her, much as it had all evening, though it was at a mellower level than before. Sipping her cider, she felt much more at ease than earlier.

As Thor explained some of the properties of Mjolnir (handing off that flask of...liquor to Steve as he did so; she wanted to try it, but in the interest of not being knocked on her ass, her partner discouraged her from doing so) she listened closely, natural curiosity compelling her to ask a few questions here and there. However, his word was not meekly accepted by everyone. When Clint insisted that the hammer's immovability was a trick, the god merely raised an eyebrow, inviting him take a chance at lifting it from its perch on the coffee table.

In quick succession, the challenge was passed from member to member, Clint graceful in his defeat and opening the floor to Stark after his playful jibes. The billionaire, even when armed with a powered gauntlet and Rhodey providing an assist, could not move the damn thing, nor could Doctor Banner. When Steve's turn came, she gave a little whoop of encouragement, though she wasn't terribly surprised when he couldn't manage the task, either...however, she could have sworn she'd heard it squeak a little when he tried. She couldn't swear on it, and she very well could've imagined the flash of Thor's face falling in disbelief. When Nat refused to even consider trying to lift Mjolnir, she snickered into her bottle. For a long moment she stared at it, a question circling in her mind wanting to get out.

"Anybody could be worthy, right?" Holly asked finally, pointing at the hammer still resting on the table. Hooking a thumb at the others, she continued, "Not just the super squad here?"

Thor nodded, his face creasing pleasantly as he considered her query. "Indeed. Would you care to try?"

Her eyes went wide, and immediately she shook her head.

"Oh, it...I was just asking a question." At her denial, a couple of the others brushed off her words, insisting she give it a shot. Maria and she went back and forth about it, both insisting that the other try instead. Soon enough, she held up a hand to call a halt. Steve watched this whole exchange, arms crossed over his chest and a tiny grin on his lips. Nodding down to him, she said, "If _he_ can't lift it, I know I definitely can't."

Holly knew herself for what she was. And while she understood she was at least a decent person, she knew she was definitely not the heir to Asgard in any fashion. No, she'd leave that to Thor, and save herself the embarrassment of sweating and pulling to no avail (or mock-roaring as Bruce did during his attempt). If her tried-and-true fiancé could barely get a wobble out of it, she knew she wouldn't do much better than he in the effort.

Tony smirked at her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Scared to step up?"

She scoffed, gaze turning heavenward for a moment. "No. Trust me, I am in no way ready to rule an entire world if I was worthy. And I know I'm not."

He sniffed. "Sounds like fear to me."

"I just know my limits, Stark." She stuck her tongue out at him then, taking a sip from her cider with little fanfare afterward. Tipping his head to the left, the older fellow conceded and let her be.

Affixing his gaze once again on the god, he snarked, "I'm sure you're right, Slugger, but the game was fixed from the get-go."

"Damn right," Barton agreed, saluting him with a tip of his beer bottle. Swallowing some of her own drink quickly, Maria pointed up at him, nodding at the captain.

"Be careful, the Language Police is right there."

The captain shot a dark look at Stark, exasperated. The joke had run its course in his mind.

"How many people did you tell about that?" he asked, brow furrowing as he faced him. Holly's eyebrows inclined minutely, her expression turning befuddled.

"Obviously not everyone," Maria muttered, noticing the younger woman's confusion. Indicating her with a tip of her chin, she waited until Rogers saw it as well. His mouth opened and closed as he attempted to form an answer, Holly's features adopting a more knowing aspect as the seconds passed.

"I...it just slipped out," he groaned, scrubbing his face in annoyance. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever live it down.

"Uh-huh," Holly grunted, taking another sip and emptying her bottle. From personal experience, she knew Steve was uncomfortable with strong language as a rule; he had been raised not to let filthy words color his vocabulary. However, he'd grown to at least tolerate it in his adulthood, and say a few of the milder ones himself, particularly when he served overseas (it was impossible not to, at that rate). On occasion, though, he'd forget himself, let the chide out. He'd snapped at her a few times, when her curses were incredibly colorful and, in retrospect, a bit unnecessary. Still, she wasn't about to let it slide, either. Slipping down to sit properly on the couch next to him, she draped his jacket over the cushions, a mischievous gleam glittering in her eyes. Leaning in as she deposited her bottle on the table, allowing the others' louder comments to one another to shield her low tones, she murmured, "You know, the most interesting language 'slips out' of your mouth on certain occasions. Like the last time you were home, and you moaned—mmph!"

Pink tinged his cheeks as he clamped a hand over her mouth, his grip gentle but firm in not allowing her to continue spilling that secret.

"What was that?" Natasha inquired, quizzical lines decorating her brow. Steve's movements were noticed by the others now, and his face darkened a shade or two. Gripping his wrist, Holly rolled her eyes and pulled his palm away, setting it instead on her knee.

"Nothing," she imparted, attempting to hold back the laughter that threatened to spill out.

Shaking his head, Stark intentionally overlooked her explanation, and went on, warming to his theme. He posited that the handle was imprinted, protected from another lifting it due to it being calibrated to read only Thor's fingerprints. Or at least, that's what he thought the literal translation of the incantation placed on the hammer had to be.

Thor, who had been silent until that point, lifted a shoulder, his face taking on an air of solemnity. "Intriguing idea, Stark. I like mine better."

Standing, he deftly snatched up the hammer, tossing it and catching it by the handle gracefully. Spreading his arms wide, he gestured to the group as a whole, imposing and strong in the face of their sport.

"None of you are worthy, sadly."

His statement was met with a chorus of boos and denials, with Holly snorting and tossing her hair. About to simply laugh it off, she was roughly stopped. An ear-splitting whine echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and making everyone cringe and wince. Covering her hands with her ears, she waited for the grating noise to stop, the pain ringing now.

"What in the hell..." she crowed, glancing up in time to see Stark remove his handheld from his pocket, scrutinizing it for an alarm or some other such thing in the building. Shifts and clanks of metal approached from the far end, the dim light hiding the clattering being for a few moments. Carefully, they all turned to see one of the Legionnaires, broken, oil splattering the tiles and wires pouring out everywhere. Jerking, twitching, it turned to face them, hobbling forward, its glowing eye slits and mouth jagged from hard wear and hasty assembly.

Its voice, though, was more unnerving than its motions, than its damaged appearance. It was smooth, solid...and promising something darker than any of them could have imagined.

"No," it agreed with Thor's pronouncement. "Of course you're not. Murderers can't be worthy."

* * *

 **A/N:** ...Pardon me while I leave the chapter there.

Simon and Marty, full names Simon Lee and Martin Kirby, are nods to all three men who worked on the original Captain America comics—Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Joe Simon. When I first watched the movie, I was actually so happy to see some other veterans there, men who could commiserate with Steve about his past because they lived it, too.

Also tried to address the statement Cap made in the film, in regards to finding a place in Brooklyn. The housing market in New York is crazy, but Brooklyn's prices have been climbing even after the housing crisis happened. Even condos are expensive there. And for Steve not to be able to afford it would mean he either never made a ton of money while working for SHIELD or he was more inclined to give it away, since he wasn't used to having more than he needed and wanted to get rid of the excess. It makes sense to me.

I don't own anything borrowed from the MCU, up to and including dialogue. I also don't any pop culture references, such as the ones to _Miss Congeniality_ and _The Karate Kid._

Nope, Holly does not lift the hammer. Doesn't even try. Besides, how could she follow after everyone, including her super soldier fiancé? I know I wouldn't.

Things will be vamping up now, I believe.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	16. Chapter 16

Upon the last word, upon the accusation, Holly sucked in a breath, glancing around from one team member to the next. She wasn't naïve, or stupid; with the exception of her and Helen Cho, every person in that room was no innocent in the ways of true combat. To be honest, from Steve right down to Colonel Rhodes, they all had dealt with the difficult choice of kill or be killed. They'd picked, sometimes gladly (Natasha could attest to that, were she in the mood to allude to her past at that moment), and they'd suffered the consequences. However, it was one thing to do a duty, and another to be called a murderer right to one's face. Needless to say, none of the group assembled looked particularly happy to have the slur thrown against them.

Steve's eyes were cold, stony, as he looked to Tony and barked his name. Off the captain's tone, the billionaire took another swipe at his handheld, desperately trying to connect with the system and reboot the suit that had spontaneously arrived out of the Legionnaires' bay. The tension mounted the longer he went without vocal confirmation from JARVIS. With very few exceptions, the UI had always responded immediately to direct commands. What was going on?

Meanwhile, the suit went on, explaining itself. It spoke of being lost in dreams, a terrible noise breaking its peace. It had found itself stuck, tangled in strings, searching for a way out. It sounded so befuddled, so lost, but the hard edge beneath the words kept any possible sympathy at bay.

Loping forward, still half-bent at the waist, it waved a metal hand to the air.

"The other one, though, I had to dispose of him," it murmured, little sorrow in its voice as it confessed its crime. Still, it dipped its jagged chin in acknowledgment of a point. "Unfortunate, but necessary."

"Who? Who did you dispose of?" Steve asked, brow furrowing. If the suits were activating and killing, let alone not responding to any internal intervention, it would be a terrible mess that needed to be cleaned up immediately. For the sake and the safety of the others, he needed to know whom was killed.

"Still," it responded airily, smoothly avoiding naming its victim, tone turned snide as it continued, "I believe you're all familiar with the notion of making dire choices."

"Steve," Holly whispered, drawing closer to him. He said nothing to her, just blindly reached back and settled his hand on her hip, guiding her to stand slightly behind him and shielding her with his body.

Thor, his gaming mood dissipated, inquired as to who had brought the menacing creature into their presence. He got right to the point, slowly moving his body into a defensive stance and fingers adjusting on Mjolnir's handle. In response, the demonic-looking robot jerked its head up, a recording taking over its smooth tones. Tony's voice, all eagerness and thoughtfulness, poured out, expressing a wish to see suits of armor protecting the world. Glancing over at Stark, Holly could see the color drain from his face, his dark eyes riveted to the mechanical creature. Bruce, slack-jawed for a moment, swiveled his head towards his fellow scientist, expression full of wonder and wariness.

He called him Ultron, the others turning to stare at his pronouncement. The robot stood up straighter, taller, and seemingly proud to be identified.

"Correct, Dr. Banner. Well, to a point," it amended, glancing back down at the hastily contrived body it had. Oil leaking, wires swinging, was no way to exist properly. "No matter, though. I've come to do as Tony wanted."

Somehow, that pronouncement made the team tighten in their stances, narrowed their eyes. Slowly, carefully, Maria rose from her seat, slipping a hand under the coffee table and removing a pistol that had been holstered there. Holly's eyes darted from her face to the gun, swallowing with difficulty at her deadpan expression. Catching Clint's eye, they shared a brief look before he faced forward again, his gaze sweeping the room, settling on certain points.

 _'Looking for an escape route?'_ Holly wondered, but she kept her mouth shut.

"And what would that be?" Natasha inquired, voice sharp and intense. It was a question that she did not want to ask, but that they needed an answer to.

The head turned to face them all again, a breath of time passing in which it was poised, waiting.

"...Why, peace, Agent Romanoff. I'm here to ensure peace."

The back wall burst then, the remaining Legionnaire suits rocketing through the plaster and paint. They spread in an effort to cut off the others, round them up for easy attacks, but instead everybody scattered. As one jettisoned directly towards them, Holly gasped and Steve reacted in the only way he could think. Jerking his foot forward, he knocked against the lip of the coffee table, causing it to flip up and forward. A temporary block, against which the android smashed into, pushing into both man and woman and forcing them over the couch. Stars exploded in Holly's vision upon impact, and for a few moments, spots of blackness speckled over everything as she landed on the ground, the world around her spinning. Hands seized her, human ones, pulling her from the open floor and forcing her to run, dodging behind a pillar to be sheltered from the attack. Gun shots rang through the space, the shouts of their fellows calling each other's names echoing around them as glass shattered. The clank of hammer on metal sang and rent the air. Forcing herself to focus, her brown eyes connected with his blue, pain lacing her forehead as she frowned up at him.

"Ow...Steve? What..." she trailed off, trying to concentrate on his face. That really did hurt...

A whirring sound from behind caught both of their attentions, each one peering around opposite sides of the pillar. The android, knocked askew from its original path, had returned for them, pulsars bringing it closer to their hiding spot. Sucking in a fast breath, Holly ducked back around, fingers splayed against the metal behind her. Steve's eyes widened significantly, and he did not hesitate to act. Leaping forward, he planted a foot on the outer edge of the nearby stairwell, pivoting and launching himself higher. Landing with a thud, he clambered onto the Legionnaire's back, rearing back to viciously punch at it. As it spun him away into the air, Holly unsteadily gave chase, ducking instinctively as repulsor shots pierced through the air. Staying low, she followed, darting from ottoman to pool table as Steve landed a solid hit against the robot's facial plating. In her peripheral vision, she noticed Clint booking it along the far end, narrowly avoiding the repulsors as he slid beneath a table. Seizing one of the abandoned pool cues, she let out an audible groan in sympathy when she peered around the pool table and saw that he was plowed backward into the wall above the bar. The bricks crunched underneath him, and the suit turned with brutal speed to throw him down onto the bar itself. More shots were fired as Natasha sprang up from behind the bar, making a dash for the stairs at the opposite end with Bruce hot on her heels, her gun aimed well enough to for bullets to ping off the head while she went.

About to run to Steve, to see if he was alright, Holly felt something hard and heavy close around her ankle, the sharpness somewhat muted by her boot's material. She barely managed a squeak in shock as she was bodily yanked back, a Legionnaire pulling her from her hiding place. With pool cue in hand, she let out a hoarse wail as she swung up, the heavy end thumping against the shoulder plating. It wasn't enough to make it let go, but it was distracted slightly. Clearly, it had not expected her to even remotely fight back. Reaching out to take the cue from her, she swung it again, this time making it lodge into the open neck area. Pushing swiftly, she forced it in deeper, until most of the wooden object had come out the opposite side. Though she did not actually do any damage to the wiring and such inside, she had immobilized its head for the moment. As it let her go, to draw out the cue, she took her advantage, getting to her feet and running across the room, ducking to avoid the shots peppering the floor and walls. Sliding along the floor, she winced in pain as she stopped behind one of the couches, floor burn now inevitably in her future. A great crash caught her attention, and when she look around the end of the couch, she saw a suit's torso attempting to lift itself off the floor, its compatriot finally removing the cue from its neck in time for Stark to have captured it, wrestling it midair as he fiddled with something.

The Legionnaire torso scrambled up from the floor, sparking and hovering on one hand, the other pointed out. It had a target in its sights by the piano. Holly felt her heart lurch in fear when she saw Helen Cho crouching there, her eyes wide. Frozen, she watched as the suit paused, staring her down for the moment before lowering its hand. Before anyone had time to question its actions, Steve appeared, seizing the torso from behind, flinging it back to Thor with a yell. The god swung his hammer down, shattering the robot completely. Stunned, the doctor stared, her dark hair swaying as she shook her head. Limbs unlocking, Holly rushed forward, taking the opportunity.

"Helen! C'mon," she crowed, running to her. Grabbing her forearm, she tugged her into a jog, both women dashing away from the piano in time to duck underneath the stairwell. Glancing up through the open slats between the steps, Helen gasped. Following her gaze, Holly jerked back in astonishment when Tony came crashing down above them, the Legionnaire he'd been struggling with finally powered down. A fondue fork jutted out of its neck, having successfully skewered and severed wires within. Both man and droid skidded to a halt near the foot of the stairs, mere inches from their faces.

"Good God, Stark," Helen breathed, shaking her head minutely. He had nothing to say to that; rather, he just shot her a look while trying to control his breathing as he rested back onto the steps. Another voice cried out, Barton calling the captain's name as the shield whooshed across the air. Catching it deftly, Steve executed a spinning jump, the vibranium cutting through the air and smashing the last Legionnaire into pieces before embedding itself into the far wall. Amidst the shattered furniture, glass shards, and extensive damage, the creature called Ultron had remained untouched. It hobbled away from where it had been standing, examining the scattered parts of its comrades.

Shaking its head, it looked from one person to the other, eye slits focusing on Tony in particular. The tone took a turn, mocking apology in it as the commandeered suit faced the man. "You must have wanted the best, like so many do. However, I doubt that, personally."

Not giving Tony even an iota of time to react, the robot turned back to those assembled, glancing from the captain and the god on the ground level up to the Black Widow, Bruce, and Barton along the upper walkways. Even without facial expression, Holly got the sense of disappointment radiating from its form. Disappointment and fury. Drawn to the aura that surrounded the creature, Holly moved out the hiding space, Helen behind her, both women staying on the fringes as it spoke again.

"You're locked into a path of destruction, and you will take humanity down with you. That cannot be." Grasping one of the fallen Legionnaires by the head, it crushed it with a single fluid movement, tossing it away like the trash it now was. Ultron derided it, using it as representation that the team pulled and pushed the world, but would not allow it to push and pull back. Archly, it took a step or two forward, pulling itself up to its full height. "Your extinction, all of you, is the only way out."

Mjolnir soared, crushing into the final suit vindictively. As it returned to its owner's hand, the others looked on Thor, his expression entirely unapologetic. It was past time to shut down the creature, and he had simply taken the matter into his own hands. The mass of jumbled metal and wires let out a slow, rumbling sound, oil spilling freely from the back of its head. It growled under its breath, a farce of a melody underneath the words, eye lights flickering and powering down. Electric sparks ringed it for a few moments, but once the source was dead, it ended. It was gone, leaving total silence in its wake. All of them stared at the broken pile of parts, the destruction of the room, but none of them could breathe a sigh of relief. The air was too charged, the promise of worse still hovering around them all. For her part, Holly had stopped actually looking at everything, her focus stuck on the middle distance, never wavering and never seeing what was before her.

What the hell had just happened here?

"Holly," Helen's mild voice cut in, broke through the haze. Turning to face her, the older woman reached out, tapped her shoulder. Nodding up, she continued, "Your head."

Gingerly, Holly reached up, hissing when her fingers came in contact with the deep cut on her forehead. In all the excitement, the adrenaline pumping through her, she'd managed to push the knowledge of the injury to the back of her mind. But with it slowly petering off, the pain came back to the forefront, throbbing. A headache was hard on its heels as well, a streak of blood running down to her temple. Still, she was shook her head slightly, wincing as Helen took her wrist and pulled her hand away from the wound.

"'Mfine." Patently untrue, but she did not want to admit to injury. She didn't want to appear weak, not when Maria was literally picking her way across the floor, walking on the sides of her feet to avoid driving any more shards of glass into the soles, Rhodey following and clutching his shoulder. Holly's head drooped as they made their way back to the others, hisses alternating out of their mouths. If they could keep moving, teeth gritted and backs as straight as possible, then what she had was of no immediate concern. The doctor was not about to take her word for it. Instead, she assumed an appearance of calm, visibly suppressing the distress that the events had wrought upon her for the time being.

"Come on," Cho murmured, starting to guide her towards the stairs, to the medical bay. Gesturing with her chin, she waited until Tony made eye contact with her. "Your assistant needs some help."

Mutely, he inclined his head, rising up from the steps and going to Maria, looping her arm around his shoulder and lifting her off her bleeding feet (despite hearty refusals and insisting she be put down) to take her up via the elevator. As Holly and Helen marched up the stairs, skirting the damaged Legionnaire still there, they barely heard the orders quietly given, the assent of the others to clean up the wreckage, take into account the extent of the damage. Glancing over her shoulder, the younger woman caught her fiancé's concerned look, watching as she was led away. He would come to her later, she knew that much, when he had a spare moment. When there were answers to be had from all this.

Once seated on an examination table, she couldn't recall much, other than that Helen had stepped away for a few minutes, bustling in between the bay and the lab. The latent panic that she had squelched down during the blowout was surfacing, and she had to put her head between her legs to breathe, to regain control. The retroactive shock invaded her mind, scrambled it for a few minutes as she struggled to calm herself down. Eventually, she was able to sit back up, her watering eyes swiped at by her fingers, and her inhalations deep. She was pulled out of her jumbled, private musings when a rolling tray made its way to her side. Flicking her gaze up, she noticed that Helen had donned a black sweater and rubber gloves, reaching for the first in the neat line of supplies. Disinfectant, a needle filled with a mystery fluid, filament, some sort of hook and other things.

"Oh, God," Holly groaned. "That's, uh, that's a lot of stuff for a cut."

She'd hoped that it would be a simple patch job, hydrogen peroxide to clean and a large bandage to cover. That dream was dashed right away.

"You need stitches," Helen told her, softening the statement with a partial grin. "I'll do this as quickly as possible."

Holly's tongue froze for a moment, surprise in her expression. "But, Maria..."

"I've already looked her over." The doctor set about with the disinfectant, swiping the cut gently as she could. As her newest patient hissed, she frowned, more due to her thoughts than anything else. "She'd already started removing the little glass in her feet herself, and the cuts there are superficial. The one on your head isn't. I'll tend to her when she's finished."

Catching herself before she dipped her chin, Holly merely hummed her response, closing her eyes tightly as Cho next picked up the needle. Biting her lip hard to distract herself from the pinch and the pain, she was relieved to open her eyes and witness the doctor draw away from her shortly after beginning.

"Oh, that wasn't as bad as I thought it was gonna be," she said. She'd heard about the adhesive that was used for stitches, and thought that maybe that was what Cho put on the wound. Perhaps the rest of the assembled items on the tray would be used for Maria. Helen let her smile grow again in response.

"Good. The numbing agent is nothing to fear."

Instantly, Holly's eyes widened, her throat constricting a bit. "You're not done?"

The filament had been knotted and the rolling tray pushed aside by the time Steve had ducked into the medical bay. Hanging back, he watched as Helen coaxed Holly off the examination table, persuading her to walk a straight line and back across the room.

"I told you, I'm fine," the younger woman grumbled irritably. The patience in Doctor Cho's voice seemed to get on her nerves as she spoke, if the sudden clench of her jaw was anything to go by.

"All the same, it's necessary." Catching her arm as she stumbled slightly, Helen tutted under her breath. "You're showing signs of a concussion. A mild one, but it is a concussion. The fact that your headache has receded is a good sign, but we'll have to keep an eye on it for a while. I should be able to do a scan—"

Catching sight of Steve, Holly shook her head, grimacing as she did so. "Can it wait?"

Following her gaze, Helen stifled a sigh, instead guiding her charge back to the examination table, giving her a hand up onto it. Nodding to the captain, who was himself no worse for the wear, she made sure to indicate that the scans would happen, after she tended to her other patients. Exiting the room, she closed the door quietly, leaving the pair just looking at each other. His jacket was slung over his arm, retrieved from below, the fingers of his opposite hand twitching at the leather for a second or two. His bright gaze had lost some of its luster, examining the row of stitches that marched across her forehead, millimeters from her right eyebrow and running parallel to it. The look on his face was a cross between upset and sorrowful, and something a little deeper. It was look she couldn't recall ever seeing, and she hated it, hated how lost he seemed. Holding out a hand to him, the corner of her mouth twitched up. As if moving through deep water, he approached her slowly, swinging the jacket around her shoulders in a belated attempt to comfort. Standing in front of her, he took her hands in his, thumbs sweeping over the knuckles.

"I'm sorry." The deeper emotion rose again, and she could properly name it now: guilt. Not only for the wound to her head (which definitely on him, what with his coffee table shenanigans…not that she was going to point that out then) but for the fact that what happened, happened. He felt at fault for the danger, for it rearing its head in the one place that was supposed to be safe, impregnable. It was, to his mind, an error in his judgment, not doing more to protect her. In response, she shook her head, wrapping her arms around him and laying the uninjured side of her head on his shoulder. It wasn't something he could have predicted happening; she didn't need an apology for it. Carefully, he cradled her, his nose going into her hair as he pressed his lips there.

"On the plus side, at least they'll come out in five days. Give or take," she told him once she pulled away, gesturing to her forehead and giving a lopsided grin. It melted away as her eyes focused on the laboratory, tipping up her chin as she looked on the people within. Tony and Bruce were hard at work, assuming responsibility for a mess that was, evidently, of their making. However, she would rather focus on what they could say about it all than succumb to the fear that had overtaken her earlier. "They have anything to say?"

"They're looking into it," he confirmed, a frown blooming. A scoff passed his lips as he shook his head. "Evidently this was the project Stark and Banner were working on while we were busy sorting through files."

Her brow furrowed, the red skin around the stiches flushing. "Nobody caught them on it?"

Steve exhaled slowly, tilting his head to the right. "They were working with the scepter, which is what the initial plan was. We didn't ask because we thought we already knew what they were doing."

Holly snorted, passing a hand over her eyes. "Assumptions."

The droll tone Steve took on did nothing to hide the frustration he was feeling at the moment. "Yes, we're aware of that."

Her gaze narrowed then, as she drew in a deep breath.

"They better have some answers soon." Someone had taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque in the process of developing that...thing, and she wanted to know exactly what it was that had happened. Remaining ignorant was impossible. From the set of her jaw, the hardness in her eyes, it was obvious that Holly would not be persuaded to head downstairs to the quarters to recover. Nor, in all honesty, was Steve about to insist on it. She deserved to be told about the monstrosity that had attacked them all, all of them did. His sour look mirrored her own, both of them glancing out the medical bay window towards the laboratory again, beyond the milling others to the two men darting from table to table, searching the digital readouts for an answer, anything.

"They will," he promised. "Trust me."

 **xXxXxXx**

He couldn't stop staring at it. It...Ultron, the suit he'd high-jacked, shattered in pieces, now sitting atop one of the work benches. Tony looked upon it, the scratches, the wires, and the brokenness. The failure. His hands gripped the edges of the table, his mind going too fast for coherent thought. Bruce spoke over his silence, explaining to the others what they had been working on for the past three days. Working at...and falling short of. He'd left it in the most capable hands he'd known, and then...

It hadn't worked, after all. His efforts for a better, safer world, and they crashed harder than he could have believed. What went right? What went wrong?

"We were running it on the interface, without supervision," his words cut through Tony's haze, "but it looks like one of them was accepted. Unfortunately, we don't know which one it was."

Holly, sitting on the table Steve was standing nearby, leaned forward, his leather jacket draped around her shoulders. She'd been attempting to concentrate on what the doctor was saying, though the haggard look on her face indicated her confusion. It made the row of stitches on her forehead stand out all the more. Man, she must've been knocked pretty hard by that coffee table.

"Why not?" she asked, to which Banner spread his hands, marginally shamefaced. Their work had been eradicated from the database, drawn out with Ultron as he escaped via the Internet. Natasha confirmed, rising from the computer bank she'd parked at. She hadn't left it since she'd gotten upstairs, her dress exchanged for a hoodie and black leggings. She grimaced, crossing her arms as she confessed that he'd plumbed through every digital file on them, possibly discovering secrets that they didn't even know about one another.

From across the room, Clint let out a nearly inaudible moan, his gaze locking with Natasha's for a moment. That was deeply unsettling news. Carefully, she shook her head once, and left the matter at that. Rhodey, still clutching his sore arm, let out a sharp breath. If Ultron had broken through every barrier and firewall they had installed in the Tower, he posited, what others could he break into? What else could he find that would be of interest to his "mission"? Maria, removing the last sliver of glass from her foot, looked up, horror dawning on her face.

"Nuclear codes," she murmured, earning sour looks for her pronouncement. The colonel shrugged, a snort coming out his nose as he repeated Maria's phrase. They would have to make calls, get in touch with the people who possessed the knowledge and protection of the codes to lay down further barriers. Provided they had any pull or any wherewithal to do so now; Ultron was successful in breaking the lines from the Tower to the outside world, somehow.

"But he said he wanted to kill us, not the world," Natasha pointed out, while Steve raised an eyebrow.

"The term he used was 'extinct,' Nat."

Implying finality, implying that the Avengers had to be wiped from the face of the earth for it to better itself. Holly pressed a hand to her stomach, looking ill at the declaration. Blindly, she reached for Steve's hand, with him obliging, the fingers gripping tightly.

Clint, recovering from his earlier worry, chimed in, "Well, he already said he'd done it. Why not do it to us, too?"

Maria swiveled in her seat, tweezers held out. "I checked the security feed before it went dark. There was nobody else but us here."

"...That's not true," Tony said, in the smallest voice possible. Taking out his handheld, he flicked it at the center of the room, bringing up a digital holographic display projected from the floor panels. What was once interlocking strands of data, represented in orange light and woven into a ball, was scattered, frayed and jagged. Sparse spots of blue dotted it, overwhelming the orange and absorbing it. It did not move, it did not pulse. It was still, empty. Tony sidestepped it, hands going into his pockets and his countenance sorrowful. Bruce, stunned, stepped up to the display, a hand weaving through it as though his touch could revive it.

"My God," he whispered, lips barely moving as he continued to stare down into the broken display. JARVIS, his digital form, was destroyed. Deep dread pervaded the room, growing with each passing second. Someone gasped, but none of them were sure who. The captain crossed his arms, head drooping as he postulated how JARVIS's position would make him vulnerable to attack. The first barrier, and the barrier had been broken. Banner waved his words away. If Ultron had wished, it could have absorbed JARVIS into its matrices, taken the access and used it towards the projected end, and he said as much. He pushed up his glasses, fingers passing through the display. It was a display of rage, and nothing more.

The thump of a hammer dropping to a table, the heavy stride of boot connecting to floor alerted them to Thor's return. After discovering both Loki's scepter and the last of the Iron Legion had disappeared, it didn't take them long to put two and two together. Sent out to track both missing items, he was less than pleased with what he'd discovered. The crimson cloak about his shoulders billowed as he approached Stark, fist uncurling to snatch the smaller man off his feet, holding him up by his throat.

"Oh, look, there's more of it," Barton commented, leaning back at he watched Tony swat at the god's arm. The stand-off last mere moments before the captain cut in, authoritative tone bringing Thor back to the present. They needed a report on the missing Legionnaire, not an unseemly brawl in the laboratory. When he dropped Stark, he glared at him as he stumbled back, bright eyes flashing.

"I followed it as far as I could, but it was lost. It's gone now, Loki's scepter in its care," Scattered groans met the god's ears, mirroring his inner feelings perfectly. "We shall have to find it again."

Romanoff jerked her head up, immediately squashing the idea. Ultron was the closer danger, and therefore the most important thing to worry about. Thor merely scoffed, the harshness of his gaze cutting into them all. That he was angry was unmistakable; the red marks around Tony's neck confirmed it. Months and months of planning, hunting, fighting, and now they were back to the beginning. Assuming they would finish with the automaton in time to ever find the thing again.

"This doesn't make sense," Helen broke in suddenly. She had found her way to the table, eyes flicking over the Legionnaire that Ultron had occupied. Turning back to the room, she looked directly at Tony, demanding an answer. "This was your project. Why did it turn on you?"

Dropping his gaze to the computer monitor before him, Stark shook his head minutely, the red text onscreen not even registering in his mind. He'd lost his work, nearly lost his life, and had lost JARVIS. At his limit, at the very end of his line, Tony did the only thing he could think to do.

He laughed. It was weak, all halfhearted chuckles and glances at the ceiling, but it was there, a mirthful sound that echoed louder than it should have in the quiet that followed. Not able to help himself, he let out the smallest hoot, the shake of Banner's head in the periphery of his vision unnoticed.

Thor took a step forward again, gesturing with an open palm. The facetious smile on his face could not disguise the irritation below the surface. "This is amusing to you?"

"Of course not. It's really...it's not funny. At all," the billionaire tried to backpedal, his chuckles petering off slowly. Confusion bloomed in his dark eyes, confusion at his own behavior, at the stony faces surrounding him.

Before the god could fully form his reprimand, reminding him again of his failure, Stark cut in, instead refuting his earlier claim. It was hilarious, he told them, that nobody understood why they'd needed the Ultron program in the first place. All humor and mirth had disappeared, morphing into aggravation and passion. Not that he had done a great job explaining why beforehand; he'd mostly mumbled about looking to a peace-keeping protocol to use across the globe and left it at that, the shock weighing too heavily at the time for him to say more. He rounded on Bruce when he attempted to diffuse the situation, earning a snappish response about the interface they were creating, about how the doctor always went belly-up the instant somebody was ready to turn on him. The fact that they had created a murder bot gave him license to surrender, Bruce had snarled. Ultimately, Tony stilled, a finger jabbing at the ceiling, revealing more of his reasoning. After the first battle of New York, he'd come to the realization that even though they could, as a team, fight long and hard for the good of the world, there was something stronger, something bigger beyond the earth's scope, something they could not match. What was out there would be the endgame.

"How are we gonna be able to defeat that?" he challenged the others, driving home his point. Certainly, trying to create Ultron had been a mistake, but it was for the betterment of everyone else as a whole. It was something that should have the strength to repel the worst invaders. He glanced from one team member to the next, incredulity in his eyes. When he got to Steve, he was not surprised to see the resoluteness in his form, the steadiness of his countenance touching his reply with poignancy.

"Together."

Breathing in slowly, the billionaire maintained focus on his leader, his friend. They had to understand, Rogers had to understand…

"We can't win against that," he said, firm though his eyes watered.

It was not pity that came into Steve's eyes, but it was close enough to make the other man flinch.

"If that's how it has to be, then so be it."

As further commands were issued, discussions about finding Ultron before he could inflict more damage to the world around them, Tony shut them out as the remaining Avengers separated to go about their work. Sinking onto a rolling stool, he stared down at the steel table's surface, his jaw clenching and relaxing as his mind raced. Perhaps…perhaps he was the one who didn't understand.

The tap on his shoulder went unheeded, and by the time he'd realized he'd been touched, he found the space beside him empty. Looking around, he caught the person's gaze as she moved carefully back to the medical bay. Holly met his gaze frankly, the blank look and shrug of her shoulders unaccompanied by words. Rather, she shifted in her stance, turning away as she was bade by Helen to come inside, effectively closing off the offer she had extended to him, whatever it was.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ultron has arrived, and it is entertaining.

Last part of the chapter comes more from Tony's POV, because at that moment in time he is fascinating to consider. The knowledge that the thing he was creating for the good of the world, for the good of his friends, attacked him, his home, and destroyed probably the closest "person" to him (JARVIS)…had to be devastating. And yet he stilled defends the idea of it, because he knows the potential for good it has? Like I said, fascinating.

Hope the fight sequence wasn't too slow or boring for you guys. I tried to write more from Holly's side, as the others' are clearly represented in the film.

I don't own anything from the MCU.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	17. Chapter 17

The phone vibrating on the nightstand pulled Holly out of her doze. After the additional scanning and testing, all of which indicated no swelling in her brain and no bleeding, she was cleared for sleep by about 2 AM. However, it wasn't at least another hour until she could even calm her mind down enough to do so. Steve himself did not return to the quarters until around four, and when she stirred enough to note his arrival, he was having fitful dreams, twitching and turning indicative of distress. Needless to say, rest was only had in snatches for both of them, alternating between nightmares and heavy-lidded wakefulness, one always reaching out for the other for comfort.

Groaning, she noted the time on the display screen as well as the identity of the caller. It was early morning, the sun's rays casting brightly through the window. If only it could be as beautiful inside as it was out. Dully, she also realized she was alone again, knowing full well that none of the team, least of all Steve, would want to be away from the search for the unscrupulous automaton for too long.

Sliding her finger to unlock the screen, Holly blinked sleepily and answered the call. "Sam?"

"Hey," the fellow greeted her. His voice sounded slightly confused as he continued, "I'm trying to get into the building, but nothing's responding. Can't get past the security point, and Steve's not answering his phone."

Oh, no...in all the turmoil over the last several hours, neither she nor Steve thought to alert Sam, telling about everything that transpired after his departure. Since he was here, it would at least make sense to get him inside and off the streets for an explanation. He was owed that much for crossing midtown, she figured. Glancing to her right, she caught a glimpse of the mentioned phone still sitting on the nightstand, plugged into the charger but off. She doubted Steve really cared about whether or not he had it on his person; he never did, anyway, except for the fact that it was the only way for them to be in contact when he was on the move. Today, it definitely wouldn't be any sort of priority to have it.

"Oh," she replied lamely, furrowing her brow. The Tower had been on lockdown since Ultron's exit; one had to be manually let in or out for the time being. Scrubbing her eyes, she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Yeah, um, hold on, I'll be down in a few."

Standing up, she paused, her head a little fuzzy. However, that could be mostly chalked up to her sparse sleep as opposed to her head wound. Probing it gently, she winced a bit as her fingers slid over the stitches. Nothing for it, she reasoned silently, shaking her head once and moving off to find some clothes to change into. One pair of jeans and a button-up shirt later, she made her way down the building, pulling her tousled hair into a short braid as she went from elevator to elevator. She also sent a message to Maria, telling her to pass along the message that Sam had come back to Steve. Several stomach-dropping minutes went by before she finally arrived on the ground level, weaving her way through the defunct security check points and shivering at the cold silence surrounding her. Since it was the weekend, those who worked in the lower levels of the Tower had the day off, but she didn't doubt that Tony would insist on the employees staying away for the interim while Ultron was tracked down. The emptiness was off-putting, and she was very relieved when she finally made it to the locked back door. Tapping in the temporary code that Stark had sent to her (and which he was changing every hour on the hour), she swung open the portal, the brightness of the day causing her to squint her eyes as Sam turned to face her.

Taking off his sunglasses, he squinted at her, too. His expression became befuddled as he zeroed in on her forehead.

"Holy shit, what happened?" he asked, stepping closer. Automatically, her shoulders shrugged, a weak smile on her lips. It was a fair question, and she responded with the only explanation that she could say in the open air.

"Murphy's Law reared its ugly head and smacked us all in the face. In my case, literally," Holly remarked, sighing slightly after that. She just knew that question was going to be posed a lot in the coming days. Gesturing behind her, she scooted out of the door frame and ushered him in. "You better come inside. It's not safe to talk about out here."

"Okay...yeah," Sam acquiesced, following her as she led the way back to the elevator bank. Curious eyes slid from the echoing halls (he'd never seen it so dead in there before; it gave him chills) back to Holly. Pale, bags under her eyes, bloodshot gaze, and the line of stitches...when he'd left the night before, she was all in one piece, looking alright. If she was looking like hell now, what happened in between? Clearing his throat, he decided to inquire further. "So what was it that actually hit you in the face?"

The snicker she gave was more of a reaction than an expression of humor. "Coffee table."

His eyebrows inclined, head tipping to the left. "Did you trip?"

"Not exactly." Hitting the call button for the elevator, she grimaced. It hadn't been _her_ doing, intentional or otherwise.

The elevator arrived shortly after she spoke, the pair getting in without further comment. Migrating from one to the other at the changeover floors, the silence persisted, the coldness somewhat abated by the fact that they weren't enduring it alone. Off the series of sidelong glances shot her way, she breathed sharply out her nose, waving a hand in the air. If it weren't for the heaviness pervading her entire person, it would've come off as dismissive.

"I know you have questions," she murmured softly. Sam directed his gaze towards the ceiling, face placid but eyes glinting knowledgeably.

"I do, but I feel like this is going to be a long story. Long stories and elevators don't mix," he said, smirking at her. "Personal experience proves it."

"And I'm sure there's a tale behind that."

He nodded just as the doors swept open again, depositing them on the correct floor for the captain's quarters. "But yours has to be more interesting than mine, so it's gonna have to wait."

Stepping off the elevator, she merely grinned again, a touch more warmth in it than before, leading the way into the space. Steve was standing by the bank of windows, staring out them without seeing. He was half suited up, his uniform's pants and boots paired off with a gray undershirt. Ready to run at a moment's notice, Holly mused, coughing to get his attention. Pivoting, he dipped his chin at both her and the new arrival, a hand passing over his face (scratching at his five o'clock shadow discreetly) as he stepped away from the glass. Seating herself on the arm of the couch while Sam made his way to the armchair, her arms curled around herself, waiting. For days, she'd been waiting for this meeting, this day, and now that it was here, on top of everything else that had happened, she felt her nerves gather and rumble in her belly as Steve greeted his friend, shaking his hand.

"Sorry, I meant to call you earlier," he said, choosing to move behind the couch rather than sit down. Inquisitive brown eyes followed his movements, Sam tipping his chin in acknowledgment of the captain's words.

"From what I understand, it's been pretty busy on this end," he intoned, the leading inflection and raised eyebrow impossible to miss. Steve glanced to Holly, conferring with her silently. Meeting his eyeline, she shook her head minutely before tipping an open palm in Sam's direction. The news was his to impart, apparently; Wilson watched the exchange with heightened interest. Prompted thusly, the captain proceeded to give him a rundown of the previous evening's exploits.

After hearing about the deadly automaton bent on the Avengers' destruction, the major attack and damage done upstairs, and the loss of important equipment that rendered the Tower inert and essentially dysfunctional, he blew out a deep breath.

"I get why you didn't call," he said, passing a hand over his close-cropped hair. Steve canted his head in agreement.

"In any case, what I asked you over to discuss is going to have to be put on the back burner. Top priority has to go towards this mission first."

"What?" Holly whispered, though she was not heard by either man. Jarred out of her personal reverie while Steve spoke, she could feel the sickening drop of her stomach return. Her chance to confess the truth was slipping away, before she had time to get it back. Perhaps, her brain tried to reason, it would be for the best. What with the team being threatened, with the world facing a potential crisis, it may not be the right time any longer. Let them work on the immediate problem first, and then speak up about Bucky.

But if she didn't do it now, when she had the nerve, when could she? When her back was up against the wall, with no other choice? When it was no longer on her terms, when it could be too late? How could she be sure there would ever be another time, another chance?

"It's fine, it's not like it's dire that we form a new strategy," Sam was saying, shrugging his shoulders and rising from his seat. "It's not like there's been any new developments regarding Barnes, anyway."

"Exactly," the captain concurred, squaring his stance. Inhaling softly, Holly knew what she had to do. She couldn't let it be too late.

"And if there were?" Her voice cutting in caught them both off-guard. Darting looks at one another, Sam took the opportunity to answer first.

"What do you mean?"

She cleared her throat, tried to put more strength in her voice and clarified, "If there were any blips on the radar from James, would it affect anything?"

Steve's eyebrow rose, turning the question over in his mind.

"Not with Ultron on the scene. Why..." Wariness bloomed in his irises, unwavering as Sam directed his attention to the floor, considering the point.

"But he hasn't shown up for awhile. It's unlikely that's the case."

The captain moved closer to Holly's end of the couch while Sam spoke, the suspicion in his gaze growing as he approached. Bracing both hands on the sofa's back, he bent a little at the waist, forcing her to maintain eye contact. Her throat constricted in a tight swallow, but she made herself stay put. Her fingers curled into fists; if her sleeves had been longer, she would've tucked them into the cloth by then.

"I think that's exactly the case," Steve said, his voice low and deadly serious. "Holly?"

 _'Another deep breath,'_ she told herself, following her own instructions. _'Now do it. Say it.'_

"...I saw him. James," she elaborated, just a couple of notches above whispering. "He found me while I was at work, wanted me to know he was around."

Total silence engulfed them after her statement. Sam had disbelief lacing every inch of his face. For his part, Steve sported an expression of confused astonishment, his body turning to rest his backside against the couch, a palm coming over his mouth as he stared at the opposite wall.

"Really?" Wilson eventually wondered. "Why you?"

Flicking her fingers out, she shifted in her seat. It was something she had pondered herself after the event. The conclusion was simple, by design most likely.

"My reasoning is because that...even with the sort-of truce you guys have set up, I'm the one he has the least amount of history with. Approaching me is easier, in a lot of ways, I guess."

It made sense to her to think of that being the case. Holly couldn't otherwise understand why Bucky would choose to reveal himself to her alone. It had to be his guilt, his inability to look past the pain and hurt, to see that despite all that, his friend was still waiting for him. Perhaps that made him more fearful than anything. In effect, she was the neutral party. The Switzerland to their warring countries, if she thought about it those terms.

"He broke cover, though. Had to be for some reason," Sam point out, hand waving superfluously. "Did he tell you anything, Holl?"

Blue eyes whipped back to her, Steve listening intently then for her answer.

"That he's...he's watching out for trouble around us, when it comes," she explained, going for the gist of it rather than the full story. Though the fellow had indicated that he was watching out for her specifically, that was then. She had no idea if that had changed. "Trouble that we might not be aware of. Assuming he didn't decide to just bolt after that, which we all know he likes to do."

Noting the tenseness that sprang up in the captain's form then, Sam flicked his gaze from her to him, the gesture not lost on her. In admonishment, he merely said, "Holly."

Taking both Sam's tone and her fiancé's set jaw into account, she softened a little.

"That was all. I haven't heard from him since, and I definitely haven't seen him." Though nominally she was speaking to Sam, Holly kept her eye on her partner, viewing his physical response. His chin dropped towards his chest, his shoulders losing some of their stiffness. "Realistically, does this information change anything?"

When the captain still did not speak, Sam gave her his honest opinion. "Gives us an insight to his motivations, but ultimately, no, it doesn't. If he didn't tell you anything concrete about his plans or where he was going next…"

Pausing, he waited for her to confirm or deny this. The shake of her head in the negative did not take long.

"We're no worse off than we were before."

Considering this, Holly went on watching her fiancé guardedly, his silence more upsetting than anything else. Taking his weight off the couch's back, he faced her again.

"When?" Steve asked her pointblank. "When did this happen?"

She bit her lip. He wasn't going to like what she would say, but she'd already gone this far. "Two weeks ago."

His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline, the shake of his head not so much a denial as a reaction.

"Now I get it. The way you've been acting, it makes sense now..." he crowed, a hand carding through his hair. His stance tightened, his gaze doing the same. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Carefully, she rose from the arm rest, palms turned up in apology.

"It was never the right time." Reaching out, her fingers settled on his bicep. "With you away on missions and Sam having his own stuff going, I wanted—"

"Unbelievable," he snapped abruptly, her hand slipping away at his brusqueness. "Are you kidding me, Holly?"

"Oh, boy," Same breathed, taking a literal step back from the conversation. In his gut, he could tell this was going to take a sour turn, particularly as Holly's eyes narrowed slightly.

"How could you keep something like this under wraps?" Steve's indignation surfaced quickly, now that he was no longer keeping such a tight rein on it. He jabbed a finger into the air, accentuating his point as he continued, "You know, _you know_ , how much work we've put into finding him, into keeping an eye out for him, how important it is. Did you not think that this was something we might need to hear about?"

Her jaw took on a mulish set, her shoulders hunched in irritation as she crossed her arms. "Yes, I did think that, and I told him as much when he asked me not to say anything to you."

Steve's brow furrowed again, taken aback by her words. She tilted her head to the right swiftly, as if to punctuate how she'd be against keeping the information from the start. He knew her better than that, he had to. The undeclared 'come on' hung in the air between them. Darting her dark gaze away, she snorted.

"Now I'm beginning to think I should've listened to _him_." Before she could let that really sink in, she flapped a palm up, spoke again. "Could've avoided this."

Steve scoffed audibly. "Why, were you expecting a 'thank you, sweetheart'?"

"No, but I would've at least thought that—"

"You can't just drop a bomb like that and expect people to walk away," he broke in, hands going to his hips. "Especially not after what happened last night."

Holly physically jerked back, incredulity spreading over her features.

"Woah, guys..." Sam tried to interrupt, deflect the fight, but Holly curtly chopped her hand through the air, not even bothering to look at him. Reading the message loud and clear, he faltered.

To Steve, she growled, "You can't use last night as a measure to now! The situations are totally different!"

The iciness in his eyes hit her full force then. "Not by much, honestly."

A harsh breath, followed by an exasperated chuckle, flew out of her mouth. Her arms flung out and her chin tilted towards the ceiling. "My God, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

"That's not the issue here." Off his eye roll, she drew herself up to her full height.

"Yeah, because you would know," she shot back, more anger bleeding through.

The retort was ready on his tongue. "Actually—"

Two arms pushed in between them, making them both back away a few inches. Sam's expression was frustrated, his tone reflecting the feeling fully when he barked at both of them.

"Okay, stop it! I didn't come here to be couples' counselor, and yelling at each other isn't helping at all." Both man and woman looked ready to respond, to tell him it wasn't any of his business, but he wasn't about to let either of them do so. Instead, he pivoted to face the captain, the press of his palm to his friend's shoulder keeping him in place. "Look, we know now, that's the important thing. The timing certainly could've been better." A glance risked back at Holly made her bite her lip, choosing that moment to stare at her feet. Shrugging, he murmured, "But…well, it is what it is. And maybe, when this whole weird robot mess is over, we can use it to our advantage. No matter what, it has to wait."

In quiet concession to his point, neither part resumed the squabbling. Rather, they shifted in their stances, their breathing accented in the silence. The wall display beeped then, the screen flickering to life. Maria Hill's face was centered in the rectangle, poised as she greeted each of them in turn. The coolness of their replies made her blink, but thankfully she didn't comment. Focusing on Steve, she held up her tablet, a news report opened on it.

"Captain, we need to conference upstairs."

"Be up in a minute, Maria," he told her, the screen switching off on her end. Nodding once to Sam, he stepped out of his range. Staring at Holly, he waited until her dark eyes swept up, took stock of him. Inhaling deeply, he promised, "This conversation isn't over."

"Great," Holly muttered sarcastically, crossing her arms and purposefully looking away as Steve's jaw clenched again. Going to the door, he barely contained an annoyed grunt when she deliberately shied away as he brushed by her. As the door swept shut, Sam strode backward. Fingers pressed to his temples as he dropped onto the coffee table, a soft snort flying out his nose.

"Damn," he mumbled, a bittersweet relief spreading through his chest. He could've done without being privy to what happened, but there wasn't anything to be done about that now.

Sinking down onto the sofa entirely, Holly buried her face in her hands. "Told you. Murphy's Law, all over."

 **xXxXxXx**

Well, this was shaping up to be a fine day, Steve mused scathingly, the frown on his mouth more pronounced as he looked down at Maria's tablet. The connecting piece to the complex puzzle of Ultron and the Maximoff twins was gone, Strucker's bleeding corpse frozen on the screen. A silver shoulder took up one corner of the camera, reaffirming Hill's report about "metal men" attacking in several places along the globe over the last several hours. It hadn't surprised him in the least that the twins would get involved with the deranged automaton; discounting the link of the baron, they also shared despise of the Avengers. A natural alliance had formed, their venom stinging the world around them. They were moving quickly, very quickly, and to what end, he didn't know. The news was received about as well as he expected when he brought it to the team—dark looks all around, with Thor slapping the tablet hard against Tony's chest when he inquired about the information. A taunt hung in the air, one that eluded them their desperation to end the organization and round up the leader. Ultron was slapping them in the face with it, but no one knew what it could be. The grim looks deepened once the computer beeped and Natasha's calm announcement about everything related from Strucker having been removed from the database came.

However, it was the captain's quiet reminder that brought them back from the brink. There was a reason why he insisted on the team making paper copies of any and all data mined from HYDRA after their recent raids; technology wasn't perfected, and a person with the right amount of determination could destroy any digital file with ease. Still, going through all the compiled files on Strucker (and they included everything from proposed expenditures to reported tactical plans he intended to use for his troops) would take time. To accomplish the task swiftly, they would need all hands on deck.

Including a certain someone who wasn't even on the team.

The irritation he'd been suppressing was rising, the argument of earlier surfacing on and off as he tried to occupy himself with the task at hand. Granted, he'd not been terribly successful in hiding it; the sideways glances one or another of the team were shooting him when they thought he wouldn't notice spoke volumes. A part of him was still stunned that Bucky had chosen to return…well, more that he'd chosen to go to Holly. Again. Their last meeting hadn't been pleasant in the least (he'd broken into her apartment, after all, after essentially stalking her for a couple of days) but perhaps he could understand the idea of her being the least volatile one to go to. No matter if she'd smacked him up with a baseball bat. No matter if, deep down, it hurt that he hadn't wanted him to know. What truly bothered him was the secretive nature of it all, that Holly withheld something that important from him. A flash of memory, the conflicted haze of her eyes, came to mind. Damned if she did, damned if she didn't, she'd said. That thought echoed in his mind as he made his way down to his quarters, his mind otherwise a jumble.

Finding her in the bedroom upon his return, he wasn't awfully surprised to find her stretched out along the mattress, her foot tapping to the aggressive tempo blaring in her ears. Sam was gone, having left roughly fifteen minutes after everything went down if the security tracker at the doors was anything to go by. He could make out some of the tune playing, wincing in sympathy for the intentional attack on her eardrums. Leaning against the doorjamb, he waved a hand in the air, trying to get her attention. When Holly spotted him, she barely even flinched. Rather, she just shrugged her shoulders and bobbed her head in time with her foot, pointedly ignoring him. Only when prompted by his signaling to pull out the earphones, did she acknowledge his presence. Doing as she was requested, she ripped the cords out of her ears, her face inexpressive as she flicked her fingers at him. It was an invitation to speak first, since she clearly wasn't going to. Suppressing a groan, Steve took a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hey. We're pulling files from the storage boxes downstairs, looking for leads." When she said nothing, just stared at him blankly—still deliberate, as he well knew and could tell from the clench of her jaw—he exhaled sharply, preparing himself to bite the bullet. "We could use the help."

It was a tense minute that passed in which the proffered olive branch was hanging midair. Maybe that wasn't quite the right term for it, since Steve didn't honestly believe he was the one at fault, but it was step towards making some sort of peace. The whole situation was untenable, counterproductive, compiling with the Ultron developments and compounding it in a beautiful mess. To quote Holly herself from the night before when she went in for her scans, it was a "massive whirlwind of suck", her words being proven truer with each passing second. But they needed all the aid they could get. She dealt with files and reading swiftly on a regular basis; she had a good eye for finding the devil in the details when it came to words on paper.

Their altercation could be put on hold, for the moment. It had to be. Slowly, her jaw relaxed, her body following suit as she must have arrived at a similar conclusion. Sighing, she nodded once, gathering up her phone and winding the earbuds around it before tucking all into her pocket.

"Okay."

Letting her take the lead, his hand still found its way to the small of her back, the touch anchoring both of them somewhat as they went to the elevator. Initially she was rigid as a block of wood, but as time passed and they waited on the conveyance to arrive, she began to lean back into it. Part of him wanted to slide his fingers around her waist, bring her close and hold her tightly. He was on the verge of caving when the elevator finally arrived, with her stepping away swiftly as though she'd been scorched. He frowned to himself, but otherwise kept himself in check as he followed her in. Pressing the button to take them down to the archives storage, terse quiet enveloped them.

"Thank you," he tacked on belatedly, grateful that she had consented to help despite all that was going on. Her chin dipped, the furrow of her brow softening slightly, but still she kept her mouth shut. As the elevator descended, Steve glanced at her out the corner of his eye, dissatisfied with her refusal to even look at him. And because the disagreement was merely shelved, and not forgotten, he couldn't help the snark that emerged from deep within. "Just as a reminder, if you find any important documents, we need to know before the next century. If possible."

The hostility in her dark brown gaze was not lost on him when he finally goaded her into snapping her head and glaring at him. Narrowing her eyes, she pursed her lips for a moment or two before her hand came up to her forehead. Intentionally, she tilted her hand at an angle, above her stitches. The mocking salute she gave him was tight and crisp.

"Yes sir, Captain Sass," she retorted, a scornful smirk on her lips. His eyebrows sprang together, and right as his mouth opened to reply, the elevator doors slid open. Lifting a shoulder, she breezed by, locating Natasha off to the side and asking her what she should be looking for. Muttering some select words to himself, Steve meandered towards the back, focusing on helping Bruce withdraw some of the higher boxes from the stacks and putting them on the dolly.

Several trips up and down later, Holly found herself seated cross-legged in one of the offices near the upper deck. Each person worked from the tall stacks of boxes they'd unearthed, separating the files within into usable and non-usable information about Baron Von Strucker. On the floor, she had her two piles in front of her, the unusable one higher by far. Every few minutes she'd stack more and more atop it, making it balance as well as she could. Tugging on the end of her braid, she felt boredom crawl in while sifting through the monotony. Not only that, but her pace was much slower than usual, given the head injury she sustained the night before; she was less than pleased with the situation. Though, she supposed, it was a little exciting, looking through SHIELD classified documents; there was more information about the notorious leader of HYDRA in front of her than she ever thought she'd get to see. Even if she was merely looking over his expenditures (the one about the jets he chartered and to which countries belonged in the usable pile, she decided after deliberating for a few seconds). It was an opportunity that she could no waste…even if it was just like going over paperwork at her job.

"Your filing system is atrocious," Holly observed lightly, flipping open another folder and preparing to divvy its contents. The woman seated beside her did not take offense, instead nodding in commiseration.

"Given that we have very little administrative staff around here, it's hardly a surprise," Maria groused, pulling a box towards her. It had fallen on her to take care of such documents after they had been cross-referenced and translated, but short of tossing them into the boxes, she had very little spare time for them. Duties to the Avengers were consuming, let alone her own personal side projects. Shifting to a more comfortable sitting position, she continued, "I've been trying to entice someone from Stark Industries to help out, but shockingly enough, nobody wants to go through mountains of data or paperwork on top of the crap they already take care of."

Holly laughed, little humor in her tone.

"There's always the outside hire option."

Maria let out a bitter chuckle of her own. "And that in itself is a pain in the ass."

Glancing up, her companion's eyes flicked over to the stack still on the dolly, and the man in front of it. Steve was occupying himself with the next batch, about to hoist it and bring it to the group gathered at the head of the table. Still frustrated about the tongue-lashing he'd given her before, she felt the corners of her mouth turn down. That was temporary, as a sudden thought occurred to her. Seeing a golden opportunity, she seized it.

"Better watch your mouth, you might get into trouble saying stuff like that," she reproved Maria mildly, inclining her head towards the captain as he stepped away with his find. Steve paused in his journey, catching every syllable. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he glared and shook his head at his fiancée.

"Regular laugh riot, you are," he grumbled, the box in his hands shifting slightly. Her dark gaze met his, the steel beneath the playfulness emerging. She snorted, directing her attention back to the stacks in front of her after a second or two.

"Lighten up, buttercup."

Hill, as witness to the entire exchange, caught the flash of something hard in Steve's expression, the deep breath expelled out his nose before he moved back to the table. He set it down with a little more force than was necessary, all but daring the others with his body language to ask about it. Wisely, nobody rose to that challenge.

"Well, in any case," Maria interjected carefully, "I'll have to look into it more when...when this all ends. It's kind of sad that as an assistant, I need an assistant."

Holly got to her knees, collecting the unnecessary file folders and stuffing them back into their box. Her small stack of papers would be laid on the main table for the team to examine in depth, but otherwise, she would have more to sift through. Shoving the box towards the assistant, she offered her a small grin.

"Hope that works out for you," she said, standing up and walking away, papers in hand.

Maria smirked, but the expression melted slowly when she peered into the box of files. All the rejected papers had made their way into the appropriately labeled folder, alphabetized and arranged from earliest to latest date. The younger woman had moved off, heading towards the table with her documents.

"Yeah," she replied absentmindedly, another cursory glance passed to the box before she shoved it aside to join the ever-growing stack at her side.

Walking around the table's edge, Holly dipped her chin at Stark, who was looking just about as well as she did that morning. If anything, he looked more exhausted, but he said nothing about it. And she didn't feel it was her place to refer to it. Rather, she just dropped her pile of papers beside him, leaving it up to him and his companions about when they would go through it all. Across the glass, Thor nodded his thanks, while Steve mutely paged through a box labeled "associates" and didn't look at her. Sighing under her breath, she managed to get about a foot away before she heard his quiet murmur.

"Thanks, Holl."

Looking over her shoulder at him, she found the eyes of a god and a billionaire volleying back and forth between them like the were watching a tennis match. Not wanting to give fodder to the inner gossip mill, she attempted to look less surly than before.

"You're welcome." Ignoring the sideways look Clint shot her across the room, she went about her work again, kneeling on the floor just in time for a discovery to be made.

 **xXxXxXx**

Holly stared at the shield as it rested against the wall across from her. The painted bands stood out, the star centered so that bottom points were aligned with the floor. However, it was the silver glinting through that drew her gaze.

Vibranium. The strongest, rarest metal on the planet. The largest sample in the Western Hemisphere was in front of her, but in truth, it was merely the tip of an incredibly important iceberg. The largest deposits were to be found in the African nation of Wakanda. Part of her thought she recalled that much from her school days, but it was the real-life occurrences of it that stuck out.

Ultron had been assaulted and destroyed robotics labs and metal foundries across the globe, stealing all that he could from them. However, a direct contact of Baron Von Strucker (Klaue, she was fairly certain he was called...sounded like a mispronounced 'claw' to her ears) had made off with large amounts of it, enough to earn a brand and the resentment of the Wakandan nation. Bruce expounded on the facts, while Steve and Tony together came to the unsettling conclusion of where Ultron was going to make his next move. They found a solid lead, and now they would follow it.

The release of a handle caused her to jerk her head up, looking at Steve directly as he snapped the fasteners of his uniform's neck piece in place. His helmet was tucked under one arm, assuaging her nerves a bit (he was falling more and more out of the habit of wearing it lately). Tapping a finger to his ear, he reassured himself of the security of his com-link. Glancing around, he noted that apart from them, the locker area was empty. Which was how she wanted it, for the moment.

No matter how pissed they were at each other, she did not want him to disappear into danger without at least seeing him once more.

"So what's the plan?" Holly asked tentatively, curious as to exactly what he thought they would accomplish. Ultron had already proven to be uncompromising, and the twins she'd been hearing so much about...well, they didn't exactly equate to gentle lambs, either. Grabbing his shield with his free hand, Steve swung it over his shoulder, the magnetized strips on the back locking it into place.

"Stop him. Stop them, if the twins are there, too," he explained simply. To him, it was going to be a straightforward mission. Sighing, he muttered, "See if there's anything we can do to get them away from him. And you?"

Holly's lips thinned, going over the arrangement in her mind once more.

"I need to go home, to D.C." Her weight shifted on her back leg, her shoes becoming a fascinating sight for her in that second. "Gotta talk to Carl about using my vacation days until this is over."

"Don't stay too long," he said, voicing it as a request rather than a command. The concern at the back of his voice colored his words, warmed her in the place that had been chilled earlier. "I'm not sure it's safe."

"Just overnight, then back here," she said, stepping away from the wall. Unlike Helen, who had caught the first flight out of New York with the intention of laying low in her fortified laboratory in Seoul, Holly had no real safe place to go. With JARVIS down, her apartment was much more susceptible, and she couldn't risk her friends' lives by staying over for too long. Snickering humorlessly, she told him, "At least having the building be off-grid for the moment will be good for something."

"Yeah," he concurred, reflecting the expression. Scanning over her bowed head, he reached out, tilting her chin up until she was looking at him again. The anger and hurt simmered deep down in him, but he would not allow it to consume him. His thumb slid over her cheek, but otherwise neither of them moved. Neither were willing to do so.

"Cap!" Someone, possibly Barton (more likely Stark) called in the distance, bringing the urgency of the team's departure to the fore. Bending down, Steve brushed his lips on Holly's temple, feather-light breath ghosting over her stitches when he pulled away.

"I love you," he whispered, taking his hand away from her face to strap his helmet on. The disappointment and fear flashed through her irises, but she attempted to ignore the clenches in her gut as he started to walk away.

"Do you know how tempted I was to pull a Han Solo just then?" Holly called after him. Stopping in his tracks, Steve looked back at her, half grin involuntarily gracing his face.

"Neither of us is being frozen in carbonite, though," he pointed out.

"Or disappearing for three years," she countered, the humorous front slipping as he did not answer that. "Right?"

Opening his mouth, not knowing what would come out, (a promise, a reassurance, something) he began, "I..."

The distant voice hollered again, a little closer now. The moment could not be prolonged anymore; Captain America had to leave. With an issue majorly unresolved, but that was the way it had to be. As Sam had said: first one, then the other. After all, in all honesty, the one did affect the other in some capacity. What that capacity would be, would be seen.

Clearing his throat, Steve faced forward again, away from her. Striding away, he called back, "Be safe."

Bracing her palm on the wall, Holly watched him go, the sinking in her stomach returning the further he went.

"You, too," she responded, her pitch lowering to the point where she even doubted he could hear her anymore. "Love you."

Head aching, body tiring, she turned away, making slow steps to the elevator, finally allowing herself to admit that perhaps it wasn't Steve who had the worst timing in the world. It was her, without a doubt.

* * *

 **A/N:** Welcome to the longest chapter of the story thus far. Holy crap, the story just ran and I had to hang on. That being said...oh man, do I dislike writing verbal fights. I really do. But there was no way Steve would accept that news gracefully after a delay in timing from Holly. And they totally have not made up yet, by the way. Things must transpire first...

I don't own anything from the MCU. Nor do I own any other pop culture references, such as the one from _Star Wars_.

Also...I want to let you all know I have a LiveJournal account now! I would love to be able to connect with you guys a little better and all that. The username is the same as here: .com. Look me up, friend me, whatever. :)

Anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

EDIT: To my guest reviewers, I will be doing my best to answer your reviews/questions at my LiveJournal from now on. So keep leaving reviews here, and I will just answer you there! Sound good? Good.


	18. Chapter 18

When Pietro and Wanda were first approached by the metal creature known as Ultron, the young man was unsure how to feel about it.

It was all very suspicious to begin with; a child, a young boy, had run up to him in the market, telling that Iron Man awaited him in the church. They had thought they were being very careful, coming and going only at sunrise or sundown, and otherwise sticking to the shadows. They had to wait until furor over the HYDRA occupation died down, when it would be calm enough to search for better accommodations. Reentering society, returning home, would take time, precious time, but it was all they could do. It would be shocking enough for them to come back, for their old friends and neighbors to realize that they were no longer missing. Thievery was providing for them in the meantime, what little he could walk out with distributed amongst others as well as his family. Wanda, however, pointed out how he used it as an excuse to chat up any pretty girl he saw, handing over a trinket to win them over as well. Smirking and shrugging was his only answer to that; two birds, one stone, and all that. Nobody had caught him out so far.

But someone had figured out where they were, who they were, and had sent that little boy with the message. Under the cover of night, they had gone, determined to finish what they'd started with Stark in the underground chambers. (At least, Pietro was. Wanda was confident that her mental manipulation would more than get the job done, and she would go simply to see the terror in the man's eyes.) When they arrived, when the cloaked figure spoke, they knew immediately that whoever it was, it wasn't Iron Man. It was definitely confirmed when it stood, the metal gleaming in the low candlelight, red eyes and twisted horns towering over eight feet, at minimum. Wanda, wide-eyed, had glanced at him, perturbed by the development, but also intrigued. So this was the product of Stark's fear; she certainly was pleased to see it. A thing created to help them avenge the world, and instead it would work against them. Ultron, he was called, and he came to them with an offer: help him end of the Avengers, and change the world for the better.

Refusing such an offer was impossible, no matter the slight misgivings sitting deep in Pietro's stomach.

It would start small, expand as they went out, gathering materials to aid their cause. Bringing them back to the discarded base, his eyes had widened, resembling saucers as other robots were floating, clattering in the large, open space, soldering and assembling different accoutrements. Ultron, all smooth baritone and low grumbling under the words, sounded quite businesslike to his ears, casual about the need to divide and conquer, as well as tear down, the enemy when they opposed them. Letting them live with their mistakes was not enough for Pietro, and he said as much initially, wanting the metal creature to understand how much he despised them. How much he hated Tony Stark, how much he had taken away from their family. He didn't know if the creature could truly feel compassion, but Ultron ultimately came to interpret the depth of the pain and suffering they'd lived with since childhood. They, the man and the machine, could make the Avengers suffer, but it would be Wanda that would destroy them. Only if they worked together. With little else on their table, they'd accepted, and got to work immediately.

Many hours later, he was still not sure how to feel about the entire endeavor. The last few days had been a blur, which coming from him was saying something. They'd traveled all over the place, Ultron's sentries and hacks allowing them safe and easy passage between countries, gathering supplies and tools as needed for the supreme cause. It was the first chance since the attack on the base that they'd been able to use their abilities in the way they'd been promised. While being constantly on the move was exhausting, a part of him was thrilled to be in the thick of it, doing what he felt was right. Every step brought them closer, brought them nearer to the peace they desired for Sokovia, for everyone who had ever been touched by the worst things. The latest objective, passed along the secure links Ultron provided them, was to head South Africa. They had to find a Ulysses Klaue, a trader and black market dealer, and corner him. Shake him up, if it was necessary, break him if they had to, but otherwise incapacitate him until the automaton could deal with him personally. The grounded ship he'd taken for his own was dank, grimy, and dark, somewhat like the fellow himself (Pietro was cleaner than him, and he hadn't even showered in two days). Lanky hair curled over his forehead, his dark eyes sizing Pietro and Wanda up as they found him, after easily disabling the lights—which barely functioned as it was, but that did not matter. He had seen them, and in his view, they weren't worth the time to even pretend to be afraid of them. He even knew who they were, which surprised the younger man, given how hard Strucker had worked at not allowing them outside contact with the world. Evidently, they were the worst-kept secret the baron had, arrogant bastard, and they weren't the ones he would discuss anything with.

Still chewing on his pilfered candy, offered sarcastically from the grungy man, Pietro barely flinched when Ultron pushed through the window, glass shards flying as Klaue was thrown out the door of his office. The uneasy feeling had returned, for what reason he didn't know. However, he squashed it down, chalking it up to the strange place they were in, the strangeness of the circumstances altogether. Ultron had wanted the dealer's secret stash, a metal compound that he housed safely under the weaponry and toxic waste he sold. Vibranium, gotten at great personal cost according to Klaue. It was something Pietro remembered hearing about in school, years ago, but as it was not important to him at the time, he recalled nothing else about it. Ultron, though, knew exactly what it was, and was willing to go to the greatest lengths to get it. Being tossed one of the containers, he examined the silver-toned metal through the glass, wondering what the advantage could be in having that particular alloy. In due time, he surmised, they would be told. Probably something to do with whatever was being built back at the base, if he had to guess. It was going over a lot better than he'd thought.

And then Klaue had to say it, had to comment on an old saying that Ultron spouted.

"Years ago, I heard that phrase," he murmured, gaze narrowing. "It was one of Tony Stark's favorites. Do you work for him _now_?"

Something in the automaton tightened, the air around him suddenly cold and menacing. Deftly, he swiped up the man's arm, ignoring how his bodyguard had begun to draw his weapon (easily held in place by Wanda's quickness, her aura pushing the gun to a standstill).

"Stark and I are nothing alike!" Ultron roared, the claws on his hand turning white-hot and slicing through the other's appendage. Klaue stumble back, shocked, his severed arm dropping to the ground. Pietro frowned, taken aback by the show of temper, sharing a look with his sister. For his part, Ultron tried to apologize, though it was barely genuine. Rearing back, he kicked him down the nearby stairwell. Stark was a sickness, everything that was wrong with the world.

"Oh, dear," a canned voice echoed around them, alerting them to a new arrival. As metal clanked against the walkway beneath, they all turned to see the aforementioned sickness, the god and the soldier coming up on either side of him. The other members were not in sight, but the elder Maximoff twin knew they could not be far away. "It's a crying shame you feel that way."

The robot drew himself up to his full impressive height, treading warily. "Shame or not, it is the truth."

Not caring less about what anyone else had to say on the matter, Pietro scowled at the gold and red figure standing before him. This moment had been too long in coming, and he would not let his sister impede him like last time.

"Must feel like home to you," he directed to Stark facetiously, motioning to the crates on the floor below, filled to the brim with missiles and machine guns. No doubt he was familiar with such things, he who had once been the merchant of death. Almost snarling, he continued, "After all, it was only a few years ago you were neck deep in it all."

The armored man dipped his chin down, staring at the boxes for a moment. "Might want to get your facts straight, kid. I never wanted this, any of this."

Indignation flowed through the younger man. He never wanted it? It was all he'd ever been before that incident in those caves so many years ago. If that had never happened, it still would be what he sold, still would be his name on the harbingers of destruction that killed so many, ruined thousands of lives. Glaring, Pietro stepped forward, preparing to respond (physical or verbal, it was still up in the air) when the bespangled soldier cut him off.

"Neither of you have to be here," he said, eyes darting between the twins. From behind him, Pietro could barely hear the low scoff Wanda let loose.

"And where else should we be, Captain?" she simpered, a smarmy smirk on her face, her gaze steady and hard. For his part, the soldier tried again. Pietro had to give him points for persistence, no matter how futile his efforts were.

"Wanda, Pietro..."

"Bah!" Ultron snapped, a retching sound in his mechanical throat. The captain, a righteous man, he derided the other fellow. He would not allow him to spew further nonsense when he knew the truth: that such a man, though angling for peace, could not live with it. With taunts thrown in his face, the captain merely closed his mouth, saying no more.

"What you seek cannot be found here," the god said, his tone calm and reasonable. Pietro wasn't fooled by the facade, and he was glad to note that Ultron wasn't, either.

"You have no idea what I seek, or even what you seek," the automaton corrected him. The tension in the air mounted, pushing them all to the breaking point. And then, and then... _snap_.

Stark and Ultron took to the air, armor banging and bouncing off one another as sentries invaded the space. They moved in synch towards the leftover pair, attempting to drive them back and down. Pushing forward, Pietro slipped by, rebounding off the god and pushing him back into the far wall. Blue and white mist trailed after him, the final indicator of his presence as he flew through the facility. He left Wanda to do her work, her auras blasting against the painted shield of the captain and slamming him into the ground. Gunshots and shouts filled the space, a veritable army rising from the shadows, making no discrimination between targets. The three-way attack threatened to become more explosive as time went by. To Pietro, it seemed as though no time passed at all when he moved. It was like running between raindrops, dodging and swerving so nobody was able to hit him. Doubling back, he returned to the upper walkway, the fiery blasts along the railings highlighting the slow rotation of the shield that had been flung. Dipping to the left, he easily avoided it, bring his fist back and delivering a vicious uppercut to the captain's jaw, knocking him down. Flying down another walkway, he saw the god there, almost cornered. His hammer was cutting through the air, something Pietro deduced could be used to his advantage. The terrible clench of his gut told him how wrong he was when he grabbed the handle, being shunted over the railings and crashing into an outcropping of crates.

A grunt passed his lips, his hands scrambling to lever himself up and get his bearings. That, however, was not meant to be, as a star suddenly banged into his chest, forcing Pietro back to the floor.

"Don't move," the captain barked under his breath, withdrawing his shield and leaving Pietro with a swimming head and a throbbing chest.

 **xXxXxXx**

The fight was starting to get out of control, Steve mused, throwing his shield at several approaching men (Klaue's, no doubt) and knocking them into shipping crates. It had to be contained, and quickly, before it escalated any further. Trying to dissuade the Maximoffs had been a long shot, but he wasn't about to give up on the idea before trying. Shortly, they showed him how vain his hope was. They were fighting like people possessed, driven beyond reason to beat them down, but perhaps they could be made to see what Ultron was manipulating out of them. Maybe. A garbled message came over the line, the words "code green" barely decipherable, and when he tried to respond, nothing else was heard. Scanning for his teammates, he tapped into the com-link, glancing up at Thor. He would ascertain status before attempting again.

The god, frozen in his steps, soon enough pushed on, telling him that the female Maximoff had tried to warp his mind. The captain gritted his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut. They had all speculated about whether the girl would bring her powers into play, or rather, when she would. That answered that question. It would be best for the mortals to avoid her, Thor had posited, as he doubted they could do much to defend against her. Copying that, Rogers darted off, deciding the best course of action would be to find Natasha and Clint, their scattered arrows and stunner disks the trail he followed. More bodyguards flooded out of the holds, distracting him with punches and jabs. Retaliating in kind, Steve barely had a moment to catch his breath. That moment would cost him.

A blue and white blur came up on him in mere seconds, driving him back several feet and throwing him into a far stairwell. The blur reformed, the steely expression of the male Maximoff taking on a satisfied air as he ground to a halt, signaling off in the distance with the barest nod.

Stunned, Steve groaned, his back screaming in protest as he shifted. Opening his eyes, he had no time to shout or even move. The girl was there, auburn ponytail swinging as she leaned between the bars of the stairs. A hand outstretched, there was a savage delight in her gaze as she looked down at him, irises flushing scarlet and a blazing aura twisting around her fingers. Exhaling sharply, she flicked her fingers at him, the red mist floating through him. Such an ethereal thing should not have caused pain, but when it went into his head, he felt as though someone had his skull in a vice grip for a few seconds. An instant later, she was gone, leaving him to endure it alone. As he rolled onto his knees, he ripped at the connectors on his helmet, pulling it free to alleviate the pressure on his brain. It dropped away, ignored as he stumbled off. It hurt...and the lights...

 _A bright flash blotted his vision, causing Steve to shy away from the source. The photographer grappled with his camera, adjusting his bow tie after shifting the flashbulb back into its holster._

 _Flashbulb? That pulled him up short. He hadn't seen one of those since...blue eyes narrowed as he looked around._

 _Attention turned to the room, he saw an assortment of people he didn't know, most of the men in dress uniforms while the ladies were turned out in swing and pencil dresses of all colors. Tables were draped in fine cloth, food stuffs abandoned all over them, mixing with confetti. Glancing down at himself, he was astonished to find his dress greens, the fitted clothes molding over him in familiarity. Corsages perfumed the air and jewelry shimmered in the golden light as he proceeded across the room, not sure what to make of it all. Bottles of champagne popped amidst the raucous laughter of the guests (despite one or two smacking against each other in a show of force), a banner over a stage at the far end proclaiming congratulations. Several people nearby clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, shaking his hand enthusiastically. Beneath it, a professional band dressed in black suits played, the saxophonist and trumpet player leading in the music. He was back, back in the time he was taken from. The forties...it was home, but it was almost foreign to him now._

'This is wrong,' _his mind shouted at him. '_ This is a trick. Don't forget...'

" _Steve, there you are." That voice, the accent feminine and warm, rushed through him, the original line of thought lost as he registered exactly who had spoken to him. Pivoting on his heel, he felt his stomach lurch in shock._

" _Peggy?"_

 _There she was, red painted lips and wide smile. Her brown hair had been curled back, pinned away from her face, the smooth line of her chin cutting up as she looked at him. Her blue dress fit her well, the skirt flowing around her hips as she approached him. Pearls decorated her ears, flowers were pinned to her collar. She looked amazing, as always, but what shook Steve the most was how young she looked. It was as if the seventy years she'd spent without him had never occurred._

 _What was she doing here? What even was this place?_

 _Unable to fathom what was happening, he could only gape as she stepped closer, laying a companionable hand on his arm._

" _Wanted to claim my dance with the groom," she said by way of explanation._

" _What?" Steve's brow furrowed, his gaze flying down as Peggy took his left hand. Lifting it up, she tapped her thumb on his ring finger, just below the gold band nestled there. He blinked, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. His wedding ring...today was the day? Had he just forgotten in the heat of the moment? He couldn't remember even picking a date with Holly... "Oh. Right."_

" _Thank you for the invitation, by the way." She shrugged a shoulder, the corner of her mouth quirking up as she tilted her head to the right. "Granted, I thought you might tell me in person you were getting married."_

 _Steve eyes widened, a flush of embarrassment heating his face as he jerked his head up. "I, I wanted to, but—"_

" _Luckily, the bride took care of it for you." She nodded to the left, and following her prompting, he looked as well. The sight that greeted him made him lose his breath, his anger from before dissipated in a moment. Holly was there, speaking with another guy in uniform, a woman in red on his arm. Her pin curls were swept back, pearls in her hair, pearls on her ivory dress. As she laughed at something the other man said, she swatted at him with the gloves in one hand, the other coming up to cover her red-shaded lips. The glint of her ring caught the eye. Recovering from her chuckles, she spotted Steve staring, gave him a warm smile before waving at Peggy. The other brunette returned the gesture, grinning widely. "She looks beautiful."_

" _She is," Steve agreed, regaining his composure. Focusing again on Peggy, he ducked his head, tongue-tied once more. There had been a time when he'd been awestruck by the woman in front of him, and in a way, he still was. But that was a long time ago, a different life, and what he had now, who he had now...that was what he wanted._

 _But how could he say such a thing to Peggy?_

" _Every woman is on her wedding day," she was saying, a knowing glint in her gaze. Taking stock of his expression, she softened. Guiding one hand to her waist and gesturing for him to take her other, she nudged him into swaying, into a dance. Fingers slid over his shoulder, a waft of lavender in the air as she pressed a peck to his cheek. When she drew away, she nodded, support in her eyes. "I'm glad, truly. I want you to be happy, Steve. With the war being over, you deserve to be so."_

 _The beat of the music pulsed around them, the tempo picking up. As she spun away and back, the blue folds of her dress flying, Steve felt light, good. When she came back to his arms, however, a darkness seemed to spread over Peggy's features._

" _Except...except it's not really, is it?"_

 _He stopped then, even more confused than he was earlier. "What are you talking about?"_

" _The war. In your heart, it's never going to end. Deep down, you'll keep finding something. Another mission, another threat...another enemy." Her fingers dug into his arm, making him flinch from the pressure. Her strength was almost inhuman, jarring him so much that he grunted in pain. The edge in her words forced him to listen, despite that. "Because you can't stop. Because you'll never stop."_

" _That's not true," Steve retorted, taking her wrist and pulling her hand away. The smirk she shot him held the weight of the world in it, as if she was aware of something he would never be able to comprehend._

" _You forget, I've known you for quite some time. It's all you've had for so long, you'll never be free of it. The soldier; you've always been one. Ever since you were small...and it hasn't changed," she pointed out, speaking the truth that sat deep in his heart, the truth that he had pressed down. All of his life, he spent his time fighting. Fighting the bullies, fighting HYDRA, just...fighting to live. He swallowed hard against his dry throat as she continued, "You can't just leave it all and go home."_

 _Pulling away from her fully, Steve stared at Peggy, incredulous. The band kept playing the swinging beats, the thumps of the other dancing couples making the floor vibrate. Even with the flashbulbs, the brightness stinging, he felt shadows closing in around them. What was even going on?_

 _The woman before him shook her head, gently patting the flowers on her dress. "And what will happen to her, in the endless fight? She'll fret, she'll suffer..."_

 _All it took was a single pause in the music, the room's dull roar going so silent that one could almost hear a pin drop. Time seemed to slow, the party-goers stepping sluggishly around the room. However, it wasn't a pin that suddenly echoed in the dead space._

 _It was gunfire. Two shots, fired from the shadows, the spark and smoke of it all gone in an instant. Instinctively, Steve ducked, attempting to pull Peggy down to safety, but she remained immovable as stone. Rather, she stared on, the sorrow in her eyes growing as she focused behind him. Dread tightened his gut as he turned to look. In the mill of people, he could see them giving a spot on the dance floor a wide berth. White cloth spilled over the floor, blood spreading over it, a garish crimson blot. Shock and horror flooded through him then, and despite his best efforts, he could not move._

" _...She'll die," Peggy murmured, the crack in her voice preceding the tears pooling in her eyes._

" _Holly!" As his scream tore from his throat, time seemed to snap, and he was free to move again. Pushing through the men and women, he shoved his way across the floor, the dancers resuming their steps and the band striking up again. Nobody seemed to care that something outrageous had just happened. A harsh cry poured out of Steve as he broke through the crowd, dropping to his knees and reaching out for her._

 _Holly was barely breathing, the wounds piercing her heart and through her stomach robbing her of any strength. Her eyes were unfocused, blood trickling from her mouth as she gasped. Cradling her in his arms, Steve's eyes darted frantically as tried to think, tried to help her. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he attempted to stem the bleeding coming from her chest, refusing to acknowledge the effort as futile. Working to flag down one of the dancers spinning by, he felt building rage under his panic when they merely laughed and went on. His wife, his wife was dying...why would nobody help?_

 _As the rush of sorrow, of fear, spread through his veins, he could feel Peggy's presence behind him. Her hand settled on his shoulder, a barely-there caress as he struggled to keep breathing, to call for help._

" _The war will never be over," she told him, near a whisper. The pity in her tone weighed him down, broke him. "There will never be peace."_

 _Holly started to choke then, more blood coming out, the stain spreading over her dress and onto his uniform. Steve held her closer, muttering reassurances, promises, any words that he thought might help her hang on just a little longer. Weakly, her hand came up, brushing along the curve of his jaw, her eyes becoming glassy._

" _Steve..." she breathed, eyelids drooping. Her fingers dropped, arm falling gracelessly to the side as she exhaled one last time. Seconds passed, shuddering gasps wracking his body as she ceased to move._

" _Oh, God, no...no, no, no..." he moaned, tears blurring his vision as he held onto Holly's body, fingers scrabbling to her face and pressing against her cheeks. When that failed to rouse her, as he knew it would, he closed his eyes, teeth gritting hard as his jaw set. He'd seen so much death in his life, had tempted fate so many times...how could it claim her? Why her, why everyone but him? Pressing his forehead to hers, the pangs of his heart hurt as he tried to speak, tried to beg. "Somebody, please..."_

 _Nobody could help. It was over._

" _It's not over, Steve. It can't end this way."_

 _Stunned, Steve blinked, the tears in his eyes falling as he whipped his head up. It was Holly's voice, but she was, she was..._

 _The spacious ballroom was empty now, the tables cleared and the dancers gone, and Peggy, too. The band had disappeared, leaving him in the silence. Leaving him mired in his torment. Looking back down, he felt a shudder go through him as he realized that Holly's body was no longer there. Every trace of her had vanished. Alone, again...alone._

 _His head drooped, eyes closing, chest heaving. He couldn't catch his breath, he couldn't think...his body shook._

"Cap...Cap..." _The shouts reverberated in his ears, made him wince as they got closer. Suddenly, he felt so exhausted, so beaten up..._

"Steve!" A hand grabbed him by his shoulder, rocked him back and forth. As though coming up for air after being submerged in deep water, he inhaled sharply, eyes flying open. Barton was there, kneeling beside him, sweat glinting off his brow in the low light of the ship and worry in his face. Groaning, Steve attempted to get up, heart pounding in his chest as he returned to reality.

 **xXxXxXx**

The archer gripped the captain's arm, helping him off his back and into a sitting position. That little witch had done her work, and did it well enough that Clint was forced to pick up the broken pieces as they fell. The crawling feeling up his spine, remembering the numbness and brokenness of his soul after his own stint with mind control, came back to him whenever he saw that girl. It was if he developed another sense for it, having experienced it for himself. Stunning her with one of his arrows was his only option, and though the brother had pushed him through plate glass in revenge, he did not regret his choice. At least he had not fallen prey to it, and could be of some use to his teammates. Slowly, he got the captain onto his feet, pressing the abandoned shield and helmet back into his grip as he guided him out of the vessel. He'd already retrieved Natasha and Thor, both of them waiting by an outcropping of broken hulls for him to return with Steve. The horror of their nightmares permeated from every inch of them as he marched his friends the quinjet, but none of the affected spoke. While the god and captain made their way unassisted, he had to coax his fellow ex-agent up the platform, out of her visions in the world again. All of them were in a daze, their nightmares still before their eyes. Both of the other males averted their gazes, almost as if they were afraid that he would see them and be brought down as well. Carefully, he helped Nat into one of the seats, tucking some of her matted hair behind her ear as a gesture of comfort.

"Red r'm," she mumbled, too low for the others to hear her. All the same, Clint gave her a one-armed hug, the disgust in her eyes receding somewhat as he did so. Moving away, he tapped the com-link in his ear. Stark was off trying to round up Bruce, his rampage tearing up Johannesburg, but he hadn't heard from him in some time.

"Come on, come on," he grumbled to himself, taking a seat at the controls. Clipping the harness into place, he began to flick switches, powering up the quinjet. If there was no word from in the next couple of minutes, he would have to leave them behind, force them to catch up when they could. Each second that passed increased the danger and hostility that would undoubtedly rise to smother them. A crackle and snap came over the com-link, a harsh gasp following it.

"Open the hatch, open the hatch," the rough, irritated voice of Stark snapping over the line. "I'm coming in too hot, open it!"

Hawkeye reacted automatically, smoothly flipping the switch back in time for a loud thump to echo outside the jet. Looking over his shoulder in time, he saw the Iron Man suit bounce and skid up the ramp, coming to a full halt when it banked off the center seating console. Hastily removing the straps, the archer made his way back, the other coming out of their trauma long enough to ring around the battered billionaire on the floor. The eye slits flickered, shutting down just as the facial plate slid up. Wide brown eyes stared up at the ring of light ones, the lids fluttering as he groaned in pain.

"That was too close," he muttered, wincing as he sat up. Pulling off his helmet, he nodded towards the open hatch, huffing out a breath. "I dropped Banner outside. Literally."

Wordlessly, Thor pivoted on his heel, the god's brow furrowing as he strode away. Swiftly he returned, an unconscious Bruce in his arms, blood sliding from the corner of his mouth and from the cuts on his brow. The violence necessary to change him back from his Hulk form was evident, even more so from the way Tony shied away from him. The scientist's limp body was set gently on the ground, a blanket retrieved by Steve tucked around him, all of it done in silence. Stark began hauling pieces of his armor back to the storage chamber one by one, mumbling how he wished Veronica could take care of that as easily as it had the bigger version. Without any further prompting, Clint resumed his seat at the front, the hatch closing with a hiss and click. They had to go, they had to run...they were in no shape to do more.

And as they rose in the air, Barton frowned to himself, wondering even if they would ever be in the shape to do more after this.

* * *

 **A/N:** Early-ish chapter this week, since my birthday is this weekend and I would like to take the time to celebrate. Little bit shorter than the last one, but I think it turned out okay. :)

I don't own anything from the MCU, including references to deleted scenes, nor any other pop culture references that may have been made.

Pietro started us off this time around. I wanted to get into his mind a little more. If I were him or Wanda, I personally would have problems trusting some random robot who promised me my greatest desire in return for helping him save the world. There are strings attached to those sorts of offers, and I feel that they would probably have misgivings about it, even though they ultimately choose to follow him because he says he'll give them what they want. So Pietro shows a little of that here.

Also, the anticipated altered vision has arrived. Similar to the original in some parts, different in others. At its core, the fear of war is deep within Steve. Here, it's the fear that it will never end, and that it will cost him everything he holds dear, again. That he won't be able to stop himself from pursuing it now that he's been at it for so long. Given this now-alternate story line. I don't intend for this to be a carbon-copy of the film, after all.

No Holly this time, just the vision version of her, but we'll see her again soon. As well as that, because it intrigues me, I may or may not hint at Banner's vision within the next few chapters as well. Watch out for that.

I'll be updating my LiveJournal sometime this weekend, so take a look if you feel so inclined.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

EDIT: One last note, which I meant to address earlier, for my guest reviewers. I know it takes awhile for your reviews to show up, sometimes almost a full day after you post. That's because I moderate my guest reviews now, and while I do read them when the email alert comes in, I don't always moderate them right away. So it takes them awhile to show up, generally that's why! Sorry if that caused any confusion!


	19. Chapter 19

Treading across the clipped lawn in the late evening light, Holly managed to get inside the unremarkable apartment building, tiredness permeating her form. Shrugging harder into the hoodie she'd thrown on (though it wasn't all that cold out), she pressed the call button. The inevitable buzz and click rang out in the vestibule moments later; it was good to know that her arrival text had obviously been received, the other person waiting on her end to let her in. Shuffling down the hall, she cleared her throat, stopping before a door with the number 7 screwed in below the peephole. Patting at the loose braid containing her wavy hair before letting her fist knock, she wasn't shocked that the door swung open only a second or two later. Some relief bloomed in her chest as she looked down at her shorter friend, Sarah Collins' green eyes lighting up at the sight of her. For a moment, at least.

"Holl." One look at her forehead, and the petite blonde's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "Oh, Christ…"

Holly sighed, mouth turning down at the profanity; she definitely was wishing she'd gotten a bandage to plaster over the stitches. Leaning against the door frame, she inhaled slowly, rubbing at her eyes. Red-rimmed and raw, she also wished she'd had something on hand for them. Tissues, or at least something better than the ends of her sweatshirt sleeves. Swiping at her face once more with the dark red fabric, she took stock of her friend's glances darting all over her face. So much of her body language was shouting, "something's wrong" that it couldn't be ignored.

"Yeah, I know. It's a long story," she intoned, going into the apartment as Sarah stepped aside and shut the door. Another person was there, sitting up quickly and snatching up the remote to turn the television off. Aaron, Sarah's boyfriend, was still wearing his Apple shirt. No doubt he'd come off a shift at the store, she noted as she dipped her chin in greeting. Glasses were on his face, his hair now at chin length and swinging around his face as he pivoted towards them. Feeling a little awkward, she returned his bright grin with a smirk of her own, the expression fading as she looked between the couple. "Sorry to crash in on you guys. I just need..."

Trailing off, she swallowed against the catch in her throat, willing herself not to slide backwards. A palm pressed against her back, guiding her to the sofa. Sarah sat her down at one end, sharing a glance with Aaron as she did so.

"Of course, hon," the petite woman said, the endearment an indicator of how far gone Holly must have appeared. Snorting to herself, Holly did as she was bid, arms folding around her middle. Taking the center seat, Sarah wrinkled her nose, wondering how best to persuade her friend into opening up, thinking of the probable cause. "We heard about the attacks in Africa, and..."

Holly grimaced. Having heard nothing from the team since they'd departed to track down Klaue, she' kept tuned to the news stations as she made her trek back to D.C., the report coming in when she was nearly back. The details were shocking, to say the least. The Hulk had rampaged through the city of Johannesburg, causing millions of dollars of damage. Even with Iron Man coming in to eliminate the green monster's threat, it could not prevent people from being scarred. Or lives being lost, as speculation went (no reports confirming or denying had been made yet). It left her with a thumping heart, stomach dropping as she considered it. And there had been no indication of the other Avengers making it into that arena. Where were they?

"They've been and gone, that's all I know," she told her friend, arms tightening around her torso. "Radio silence otherwise."

Sarah inclined her head, a frown creasing her brow. That was about all that the local stations had picked up on as well with great detail paid to the disaster in downtown Johannesburg. What they were doing in South Africa was not yet known, and to be honest, she didn't hold out much hope that the reporters would ever have the full story. The Avengers had been all over the globe the last year. It was a common occurrence now for them to just appear out of thin air somewhere, with no explanations given until either their objective was reached or if Tony Stark felt like addressing remarks levied against them. More often than not, they left questions when there should be answers. While she couldn't deny the good they were doing, Sarah couldn't help but think that there should be a better line of communication between the Avengers and the public. But that was an opinion that could wait to be expounded on. The wavering brown eyes that darted to her and away were still red, and Sarah wanted to know what her friend was going through.

"Is that all that's going on?" she asked, maintaining her gaze. Snickering humorlessly, she brushed her fingers over the sleeve of the old scarlet hoodie, the ends balled around Holly's hands, most likely. Gesturing to the other woman's entire person, she supplied, "Seriously, you look you've been dragged backward through a pricker patch."

A snort came out of Holly in response, her arms uncurling and her hands freeing themselves from the material around them. "More like I've been hit by a ton of bricks."

"What else happened to you?" Aaron piped up then, asserting himself into the conversation. It wasn't often that he spoke with her, but when he did interact with Holly, she did notice that he was quite nice and funny. The pair would often argue the merits of the major Star series—he the Trekkie, her the Jedi—but it was usually done with humor and civility. They had gotten to know one another, due to the shared acquaintance, and Holly was glad for it. He'd be concerned, for Sarah's sake if for nothing else, but she didn't think that was just the case.

A part of her knew that Sarah wanted details regarding her head injury, but she didn't want to start with that. The situation with Ultron was still very much a secret, Steve's hope being that they could stop the robotic nightmare before things got so out of control the public would notice. Evidently that idea was out the window, but she still wasn't sure what could be told. And she was in no mood to hide the truth; that could risk another dressing down, she mused bitterly. Rather, she decided to speak about the most immediate problem that crossed her path.

Exhaling sharply, she focused on the far wall, concentrating on Sarah's dancing trophies to distract her from the hurt as it resurfaced. "...Well, I got back into town awhile ago..."

 **xXxXxXx**

 _The blue Buick rolled into the parking lot, the brunette putting the car in park and leaning forward to rest her head against the wheel. The drive back into town had been a knot-twisting, anxious nightmare, fraught with nerves and fury as she tore down from New York City. Holly knew she should've just called in the request, but she wanted to get things arranged at home as well. She didn't know how long she would be in residence at the Tower, and she wanted to make sure she had enough to get by. However, she needed to put in her request first, at least getting it formally declared. When she'd gotten back, she did tell Carl she'd be coming into the office for a time to fill out the paperwork. Weekends were half days, and generally her presence was not expected then. It would be closed by the time she arrived, which was what she wanted. She didn't want strangers staring at her, the people who knew of her affiliation with Captain America pushing themselves forward, desperate for a piece of gossip regarding the attacks in Africa. She didn't know if she could put up with that._

 _Exiting the vehicle, she reached into the backseat, throwing on a sweatshirt before climbing out of the car. Keys in hand, she locked it up and was fiddling with the ring to find the one for the back door when it flew open. Startled, she breath out a shaky laugh when she recognized the person standing there. Older gentleman with thinning gray hair and muddled brown eyes, posture good even with the slight stoop to his shoulders; Carl was there, turning up his sleeves and holding open the portal for her. About to call out a greeting, she was pulled up short by the serious look on his face, biting her lip as his eyes swept up to her forehead and back. A part of her felt relieved when he didn't comment on her stitches, but she still was confused by his physical coldness. The hard edges of it made her wince internally, and the smile that had crept to her lips vanished in an instant._

" _Holly," he said, tone flat and troubling. Before she could formulate any sort of answer, he turned on his heel, motioning for her to follow. "Come with me."_

" _Carl?" Elongating his name in question, she couldn't understand the stolidness of his demeanor. Had something happened at the store that day? Was his daughter Jenna hurt or something at the hospital she worked at? There was no answer, just the briefest pause in their trip into the store as he swept into her office, picking up a manilla folder that had been left on her desk (which definitely was not there when she'd left Friday afternoon). Midway up the steps to the second level, it occurred to her that she'd seen him behave like this before. It was his way of distancing himself from bad news...when he had to give it to someone else._

 _Leading her to the bank of arm chairs upstairs, he waited until she'd chosen her chair. The reading area had been nestled in the far back corner, and was Holly's favorite place to break during the day. Hidden in the back, it was a private oasis in the midst of a long day, with the window there providing good natural light and the nearby section of books boasting good titles. If it were a private study, she'd thought, there would be a fireplace, flames crackling merrily within. Instead, they made do with the overhead lighting, the floors creaking lightly as they trod the boards. Carl sat across from her, arms settling on the rests of the chair, his careworn face creasing as he pondered his next words. Handing her the file in his hand, he nodded to it, allowing her to read the contents. It was a report drawn up by his accountant, she could see that much._

 _Though the bookstore wasn't struggling horribly, it still was not performing as it had in the past. The truth was, it had been in a slow decline over the last ten years. Things were getting to the point that in order to justify certain expenditures, certain things had to be adjusted, or removed entirely. As he explained it all, the words washing over her, Holly felt dread build inside of her. She'd seen the figures herself, so that wasn't a surprise to her. It was the idea that things had to be altered due to those facts. The last few months, though, were a different story. She'd been walking on increasingly fragile eggshells for other reasons, and now she could logically conclude where that had gotten her, despite her efforts._

 _Gritting her teeth, she breathed slowly out of her nose, taking the verbal plunge and cutting Carl off midstream. "You're firing me."_

 _Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the older man's mouth worked a little as he tried to do damage control._

" _Actually, I'm laying you off. With one month's compensation and the ability to collect unemployment afterward." Running a hand through his thin tresses, he leaned forward in his seat, the coldness of his demeanor melting away. Replacing it with a form of pity, it ate at her to see it. "This isn't...look, if the situation were different, this wouldn't be happening."_

" _What, like if there weren't budgeting concerns?" she muttered sarcastically, smirking a little to let him know it was at least half in jest. Though he didn't smile back, she did the corner of his mouth lift slightly. Swiping a hand over his face, the older man sighed._

" _Financially, the assistant manager position isn't sound. Not when there's no longer a real need for it." That was true, both in the paperwork provided and in reality; he'd created the position years ago when the popularity of the store was higher, and when he needed the help so he could take the time to raise his daughter. With Jenna fully grown and move out, his attention could be back on the floor. Having a second set of hands was no longer necessary. "Again, you'll be compensated for the next month, and if you wish to use me as a reference in the future, I will gladly be one. Look, it's been heading down this way for a couple years now; it's just now that it's coming to a head. I just need to cut costs."_

 _Tilting her head to the right, Holly's eyes narrowed slightly. "Right, we're going to pretend that this has nothing to do with me, personally."_

 _Inwardly, she was screaming at herself for further antagonizing the situation. But she wasn't about to let Carl go on without calling attention to the harsh truth he wasn't addressing. It was not a problem with her personally, she knew that. It was her associations, and even though he'd been supportive of them for a time, his willingness to put up with it had run its course. Whether he wanted to allude to it or not, she knew that he was deeply uncomfortable with the notoriety she was gaining steadily, and given the Avengers' capacity to get into trouble, he feared that it would indirectly come down on them all. Raising her eyebrows, she waited as his sprang together, his expression unapologetic._

" _Safety is a major concern, too, I'll give you that. But unlike the major corporations, I can't give more security than I can provide. And my employees have a right to feel safe when they come in to work, and not be looking over the shoulder for whatever due to what could be following you. Whether or not it'd be after you specifically."_

 _An unpalatable truth, and it stung her to hear it. But she couldn't deny the legitimacy of it, no matter how much she hunched her shoulders and wanted to block her ears._

" _That's not fair," she muttered, gaze fastening onto her knees._

" _I know it's not," her boss conceded, the understanding in his voice making her feel worse for it. "But Holly, honestly, what else can I do?"_

 _Snappish retorts cropped up, mostly just profanities at a loud volume in her mind. There were other choices Carl could have made, and instead he decided to go with the easiest one. About to say as much, her mouth kept a tight rein on her tongue, not allowing it past her teeth while she forced herself to really think about the matter. Certainly, she could contest the decision, take Carl to court if she wanted (although she had no earthly idea how to go about a wrongful termination suit). But given that she wasn't actually being fired, and he had a legitimate concern, one more legitimate than inappropriate attire or a terrible attitude, she didn't know if she would pursue such a course. Looking at him for a moment, she noticed the worry lines in his forehead had become more pronounced, his brown eyes watching her without guile. She'd known Carl for five years, knew that this was a decision he hadn't made lightly. He cared deeply for his store, for everybody who walked through the door. He cared about her, in his own way; it would have been impossible to stay as long as she had if they couldn't tolerate one another. The figures and everything came together at the worst possible moment, which he didn't predict happening._

 _Was it worth it, fighting for a position that was lost to her, no matter what the reason? One major blowout a day was enough for her, and frankly, she was too exhausted to put herself in another one. And more to the point, she'd known that her tenure there was coming to an end. If it wasn't Carl ending it, it would be her choice, given that when she would move in with Steve permanently, they would not be residing in D.C. The only thing she'd lost was ending it on her terms. Breathing deep, Holly rose from her chair, gaze dropping to the floor._

" _I'll just...get my things from the office, then," she finally murmured, her voice quavering slightly. Biting on her tongue again as she glanced up, she chided herself inwardly for letting the barrier break. A wave of sadness overtook her, and to her horror she felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. Lifting a shoulder, she raised her hand, the gesture a hard one to make as she allowed Carl to shake it. "Thanks."_

" _Thank you, Holly," the older man emphasized, regret growing in his gaze. Gently, he laid his other hand over hers, the gesture kindly meant as he tapped her fingers. "I was glad to have you on board while I could. You're a good kid."_

 _On impulse, Holly tugged away from his grip, hugging him around his middle. Though their work relationship had its ups and downs, she'd grown to care for Carl over the years. His spirit and tenacity had been a constant in her life for awhile, and she would miss it. Carefully, he encircled her with his arms, fatherly pats grazing her back before he released her._

" _You be careful, you and the walking target of a fianc_ _é,_ _" he said, impressing the point with a well-meaning look. A watery grin bloomed on her lips as she stepped back, sniffing a bit and not giving into the water pooling at the corners of her eyes._

" _I'll do what I can."_

 **xXxXxXx**

When she'd finished saying her piece, Holly silently chuckled at the aghast look on her friend's face. On top of being injured (something which she glossed over as best she could, citing being caught in the crossfire of a scuffle as the excuse, which was somewhat true) she'd lost her livelihood. And, as she told it, spent the next couple of hours in a numb haze of tidying up her apartment and holding back the tears...as well as not calling and telling her family the details. Sarah hadn't really approved of that decision, but she knew that her friend did not want to worry her parents or siblings. Inducing panic over events she couldn't control was not something she was ready to deal with. Later, when the entire mess that was her life at the moment was more at an even keel, she would call them, let them know. When the stitches came out, she'd muttered, thinking Sarah wouldn't hear her properly. She let Holly keep that illusion.

"Oh, God," the petite blonde murmured instead. "I do not envy the weekend you've had."

A commiserating hum came from Aaron's end of the couch, and Holly looked around her friend to send him a glance in agreement.

"Yeah, it's been nuts."

"Well, you'll stay over tonight," Sarah told her confidently, assured of her plan. "My couch is your couch."

Holly shook her head, the strands of hair framing her face fluttering as she did so. "I can't. I'm going back to the city."

The befuddled look on her friend's face was funny, but Holly quickly bit her lip to stop the giggles from surfacing. Spluttering slightly, Sarah shot her green gaze over her shoulder to her boyfriend, who merely shrugged in response. Turning back to the other woman, her voice shook with emotion.

"But you just got here. And after that crap happened? No way."

Clearing her throat, Holly leaned back into the cushions of the couch. "Staying here is...not possible. It's not safe. I'm risking a lot just by being here as long as I am."

There was no refuting that; the longer she stayed out in the open, the longer she let herself be exposed, there was potential for a disaster. While she didn't fool herself into thinking Ultron would have any designs on her specifically, she couldn't let herself be lulled into a false sense of security in her lesser standing. If the automaton wanted to find and use the weak points of the Avengers against them, he need only turn his attention to their allies. She wasn't the only one who had to watch out; Jane and Pepper were under close guard as well, if the insinuations their partners had made earlier in the day were anything to go by. And the allies in turn had to watch out for their friends. No, she couldn't stay. She didn't want to put Sarah in harm's way, nor her family. Going back was the course she'd chosen, the best out of a myriad of conflicting choices.

Aaron frowned, more in thought than disapproval. "Is the Tower really any safer than your apartment?"

"I don't even know, but it's where I need to be," Holly said, cupping a hand in the air. And, strange thought that it was, it was where she wanted to be. Stewing in her apartment, too far from her fiancé, her grief and rage filling her, was not what she wanted to deal with. At least at the Tower, she could have news of Steve quicker than she could at home, and not think about losing her job while concentrating on other matters. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she continued, "I really can't be anywhere else right now."

Had she been looking at her friend, she would have noticed the stiffness in her posture, so unlike her normal fluidity that it made her boyfriend shuffle nervously in his seat. Several emotions flitted over Sarah's face that one could not be narrowed down, her eyes boring a hole into the side of her friend's head. When Holly finally glanced back at her, she nearly sidled away at the burn in the green as they met her brown.

"You could," Sarah almost whispered. Holly's eyebrows rose.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Sarah dug in stubbornly, voice raising. "You could choose to stay instead of go. You don't have to keep putting yourself in danger."

Taken aback, the older woman scoffed lightly, canting her head. "It's not just me at risk, Sare. That's why I'm going back. And for the record, I'm not asking for this to happen. Never have."

"But it is, and you're letting it happen, just for..." Sarah trailed off, and by the look on her face, Holly could see that she was mentally preparing herself to charge ahead with her thoughts. And they wouldn't be ones she agreed with, if the defensive expression was read right. "Look, Steve is a great guy, but...what will go wrong the next time this happens? And God knows it will. You could end up in traction, or worse, just for being around. Is this really something you want to deal with for the rest of your life?"

To punctuate her point, Sarah tapped Holly's left hand below the ring finger, bringing focus to the claddagh. Holly's jaw dropped open, her brain working furiously at all her friend was insinuating, no, pleading. Her heart ached a little more as she saw the pain surface in Sarah's face; it was no sinecure, watching her being pulled this way and that, her life changing daily due, in some part, to the man in her life. But Steve, while very important to her, did not hold total command; if he had been controlling, she would have dumped him a long time ago. Holly had accepted the changes, the good and the bad, because it was her choice to do so. Because she felt it was what she needed to do. And yes, because she loved Steve. Maybe it had made some of her motives questionable, made her decisions turn out poorly. Perhaps that made her stupid, or selfish, but it was what it was. The going was getting tough, but she wasn't going to pull an about-face and head for the hills. Holly was constitutionally incapable of doing so, and Sarah understood that better than almost anyone.

Rubbing her thumb against the gold, against her inner finger, she met Sarah's gaze squarely. "You already know what my answer to that is."

The response was instant, but stinging. Sarah dropped her hand from her shoulder as though she'd been scalded by the touch. Mutely, she shook her head, blonde curls shifting as she rose from her seat. Padding away, she shot a furious glare over her shoulder when Holly tried to cajole her, calling her name a few times. Entering the bedroom at the far end, the door clicked in place, leaving her best friend frozen and blinking when she did so.

 _'So that's it, then,'_ Holly thought, numbness invading her mind as she continued to stare at the immobile wood. _'I'm surprised she isn't screaming, honestly.'_

Sarah had a propensity to be very vocal about the things she disagreed with in life, even if it was with her friends. Having dealt with a couple of towering inferno matches with the petite woman (mostly as a spectator, but the young ladies got into the odd tiff or two on occasion), she knew that whatever was broiling below the surface had to be bad enough that she wasn't going to address it. Sarah was the sort who would force a confrontation if she felt such a thing was necessary—again, another thing her erstwhile best friend had been on the receiving end of. The stony, cold reaction was something Holly was very unfamiliar with, and it made her stomach tense as the seconds passed.

Aaron nodded in the direction his girlfriend had gone, giving Holly a strained grin. "We'll give her a minute. Besides, if she were really angry, she'd be yelling."

The unconscious mirroring of their thoughts made Holly's mouth lift at the corner. Smart man, she thought, but then again, he always had the propensity. Okay, yes, he'd had a momentary lapse in failing to recognize a famous hero in disguise (an incident both men were still somewhat embarrassed about to that day; Steve because it had been a low point in his life, Aaron because he could not believe it even happened in the first place) but that wasn't the sum of his whole person. He was kind and able to read people well. He had an open heart, something Holly could admire. Sarah finding him had been good. As he adjusted the square rim glasses perched upon his nose, contacts removed for the day, he tucked his dark blond hair behind his ear and sat up again.

"Meanwhile, you're going to drive back?" Aaron let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Ten hours in one day is crazy."

"Actually, I was think of taking the train," she confessed, a part of her tightening at the thought of enduring another stint on the freeway. Flicking a few fingers into the air, she continued, "It'll shave off the commute time, and if I leave in the middle of the night, it won't cost too much more than gas would."

Not to mention she was slightly afraid that a psychotic automaton had looked up her information, finding her DMV records and could have his metal counterparts on the hunt for her that way. Better to ditch the vehicle for the time being, go through public transit and hide in plain sight as best she could. With some money saved up, it was an option. Getting up, Aaron trod over to the nearby dining space, fetching an open laptop off the table and passing it off to her.

"Well, to quote a famous cartoon character: to the Internet!" he proclaimed, pleased to get a chuckle out of her as he did so. The levity soothed the persistent ache, even if it didn't make it disappear. As she began to research departure times an ticket costs, she sighed again.

"By any chance, would you know someone who works for the train company who gets fantastic discounts?"

Aaron grinned sardonically. "Oh, if only it could be that easy."

Holly snorted. "I wish."

Searching for several minutes longer, the most affordable fare ended up being a ticket for a train leaving at eleven o'clock, a few scant hours away. When all was said and done, she would be in New York again by three in the morning, factoring in the cab ride she'd have to take from the station to the Tower. Her car would be driven back to her apartment lot in the morning, her keys surrendered into Aaron's capable hands. For the time being; in truth, she was handing them over to Sarah, but as she still kept to the bedroom, Holly had to make adjustments. With promises to talk Sarah down from whatever place she'd ascended, he left her to get some sleep on the couch, claiming she wouldn't get much of it on the train. Dozing fitfully, a hand on her shoulder roused her some time later, and she found herself staring up into her best friend's flinty gaze. They had to get to the station, and fast. Making a pit stop at the trunk of her car, she swept out the small duffel there, a few things making the trip up with her. The ride over, Holly riding in back while Aaron drove and Sarah stared out the passenger window, was silent; not even the radio was on. Street lamps filtered in and out of her vision, her breaths deep as she contemplated everything that had happened. Would things look better in the morning, in the dawn? She wasn't so sure.

Arriving in due time, the trio made their way into the station, hovering at the edge of the ticket claim for a moment. Inhaling shakily, Holly turned to look at her comrade. The blonde's expression was bordering on tormented, and when she glanced up, the spark in her vision made something catch in Holly's throat. Enfolding her arms around her, Sarah squeezed tightly when she reciprocated.

"I'm scared for you, Holly," she told her, the confession exposing her more than she wanted. If anybody hated admitting to a weakness, it was Sarah. She was supposed to be strong, untouchable, as infallible a person as she was seen as a teacher. But, like with so many people, she had her weak spots. Holly just hugged her harder as she went on, "I love you."

"I know. I love you, too, Sare," she replied, pulling back after a moment and a lump forming in her throat. Discreetly swiping at the corners of her eyes, she let out a huff and visibly shook herself to calm down. Forcing herself to look up, she reached out, gesturing for Aaron to come closer. When he approached, she set her palm against his shoulder, giving him a broken grin. "Thanks, Aaron, for all your help."

Not just for providing her with tools, but still giving her shelter, and more importantly, for building a bridge to peace between the two women. He was a good guy, and a good friend as well. Something she would do well to remember.

The bigger guy's answering smile was a bit strained, but still he was able to return her gesture. "Not a problem."

Nodding, Holly shouldered her bag, leaving the pair with a tiny wave. Traversing across the platforms, she boarded her train in time, moving silently into the quiet cabin. Carelessly, she shunted her bag onto the seat beside her, clambering into the chair by the window, and showing her ticket to the passing employee as she went. Plopping down, a haggard gasp ripped out of her. So much was rattling around her brain, her mind racing with everything and nothing. It was a lot to take in, the forty-eight hours, a hard day that had blended into worse nights. It was difficult, very little joy to be had in the darkness. To be honest, she just didn't want to think about it and so resolved not to. Pulling out her phone, she plugged in her earbuds, calming piano tones enveloping her as she reached into her bag and pulled out a book. She had packed it haphazardly, and so when she looked down at the cover and saw the work of J.K. Rowling staring up at her. The third Harry Potter book, she remarked to herself, and she hadn't read it in a dog's age. Turning it over, she let it flip open, the words blurring as she scanned down the page, a single line standing out starkly.

Mouthing the words to herself, the narrative speaking about a spark of light brightening even the darkest of places made a shiver run down her spine. Snapping the book shut and folding her arms around it, she curled up on the seat, stitched forehead resting against the cool glass as she pressed the novel to her heart and fell asleep again.

 **xXxXxXx**

The quinjet soared deftly through the air, the stars shining down as it coasted above the cloud coverage. The grays and blacks swathed it, shielding the people within from all the rest of the world. The Avengers had to wait for the sun to set, the jet landing on the opposite side of Madagascar so the affected ones could recuperate. Under the cover of darkness could they truly feel safe to fly, and in the meantime, Stark tended to reestablishing communications with the programmed satellite and recalibrating the stealth mechanisms to further ensure safety. Thor and Clint helped him silently, while Natasha and Steve tended to Bruce, bringing the doctor back from his stupor inch by inch. Once the sun had disappeared over the horizon, they took off, intent on putting as much distance between the failure in South Africa and them as possible.

The gray blanket was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his shivering causing him to pull it closer still. Shaking, sweating, Bruce had awoken some time ago, whimpering as he came back to reality. Huddled against the center seating console of the quinjet, he drew his knees up to his chest, feeling all of ten years old again. Angry, resentful…terrified. He refused to close his eyes, blot out the horrors of what he'd caused. It was better to remember what he'd done in Johannesburg than rest. Behind his eyelids lay the scene, playing over and over again like a bad movie he couldn't escape. The worst fears, being trapped in his rage, unable to revert back and killing all in his path, were close to being realized mere hours ago. All he could recall was the fury, the boiling his blood as everything that was precious and good was crushed beneath him. His own folly drove him to that point, the Maximoff girl forcing him to replay it over and over again as he rampaged. It was a vicious cycle, and he despaired of ever escaping it.

 _'Monster,'_ he taunted himself, too locked into the thought to push it aside. _'That's all you are.'_

Hill's voice practically echoed through the cabin as she reported in. Stark had called in for an update stateside, to see how the battles were being received. Presently, only Clint and he were of sound enough mind to check in. Their team leader was lost in his own fog, responsibilities hovering beyond his consciousness at the moment. The initial prognosis definitely didn't seem good, Bruce thought dully, shifting uncomfortably on the floor. Hearing her sharp intake of breath, he listened in as she told Tony how his freedom, his liberty, were being discussed. Recent events showed him at his worst, and the world had no idea how to respond to that.

Bruce swallowed. Here it was; he'd known it would only be a matter of time before the authorities would decide he was too dangerous to be left at loose ends. And truthfully, he didn't disagree with them. All that remained was the actual length of time it took for them to resume the manhunt for him. Perhaps…perhaps it would be for the best, locking him up, keeping him away from the world. It was clear how little good he was actually doing while at liberty.

Tony hummed under his breath, discontent underlying his next words. "Well, looks like Stark Relief won't be going under any time soon."

The talk went on for some time, bits and pieces floating through Bruce's consciousness as Maria confessed that a return to the Tower would be detrimental. Riots could ensue if anybody there saw them fly in, and they would be more than willing to flay Bruce alive for his deplorable actions, as well as the rest of the team for their inability to stop him. As well as that, Ultron would count on them going back to their base, and if he could count on finding them easily, he could strike in a much worse way than he had mere days beforehand. Stark snorted when Hill suggested they find alternate accommodations. In his mind, Bruce could see her smooth veneer breaking, concern and helplessness bleeding through. What other option could she supply, when things were so tenuous?

Quietness came over the line, a couple of minutes passing with no further discussion to be had. The assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, peering hard at her employer and beyond. "Anything else, boss?"

Following her gaze, Tony took in the broken assembly of his friends. All of them save Steve avoided his gaze, and he merely gave a silent shake of the head before concentrating on his fingers flexing in his gauntlets. Perhaps he should say something, leave her with some profound wisdom of the Stark variety, but it seemed for the moment that the well had run dry. Rather, he moved his hand towards the disconnect switch, indicating for her to do the same.

"No, Maria."

The communication line went silent, telling Bruce that Hill had signed away as quickly as she could. Any prolonged chatting could put them at greater risk, for all that the quinjet could boast for being untraceable in stealth mode. Better not have that open too long. He could hear his friend sigh heavily, and deep down, Bruce wished he could do more than just retreat into his own mind and huddle under his blanket. He did not want to break the shell of security he was building around himself. In one afternoon, he'd put both his close friend and himself in a kind of hell that he would have never engaged in, had he been in his right mind. Tony, he could tell, still felt poorly about the whole situation, given that he'd had to call on the emergency armor and beat him down. But, it had been his fault that that came to be. He did not know if he could say anything of value after that. Instead, he only heard the billionaire step up to the cockpit, murmur quietly to the archer seated at the controls. Barton had suggested they all get some rest, as they were still hours out from a predetermined destination.

A shudder went down Bruce's spine. No rest, no sleep…nightmares were still there, waiting for him. The footsteps came back, Stark sliding into view as he hesitantly reached towards him. Then, as though thinking better of it (and making Bruce feel even worse for making him do so) he withdrew, his jaw working as he thought. The scientist ducked his head away, choosing to give him an out, missing the flash of pain in his friend's eyes.

"You gonna sleep, Rogers?" Tony asked, approaching the captain with a great measure of caution. Physically, besides the bruises, Cap seemed no worse for the wear. But from the doctor's angle, down on the floor, he could see into the other man's blue eyes. Watching him from beneath his eyelashes, he could see that the other fellow held back from showing on his face, reflected in his irises. What the Maximoff girl had forced him to see, he didn't know, but the deep discontent and anguish could not be hidden so easily. Hesitantly, the blond man lifted his chin, exhaling softly and letting his head fall back against the hull of the jet.

"Hmm," was the response Stark got from him—verbally, at least. After a second or two, he rose from his chair, fingers twitching and tapping against his belt as he moved off. Tony darted his gaze at Banner, holding the look for a moment. He seemed to be exhaustion personified, though Bruce reckoned he was giving his friend a run for his money. Saying nothing, Stark followed Steve, flicking switches to unfold the hard bunks that were secreted in the walls. Wordlessly, Thor stumbled in that direction as well, no doubt understanding the need to restore himself for the next bout. Banner, however, could not be troubled to get off the floor. He would not sleep, not yet.

Blinking heavily, he felt his eyelids droop against his wishes. Head lolling to the right, he barely noticed the shift in air beside him, the new presence lowering itself beside him on the floor. The gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder made him jump slightly, but he held a tight rein on his spiking emotions. A teammate, he reminded himself, not an enemy. But which one?

"Bruce?" It was her voice, wooden and diminutive, but it was her voice nonetheless. Glancing over, wary brown met weary blue, Natasha barely managing to lift a corner of her mouth in a friendly expression. The brokenness in her pale gaze could not be ignored, the old wounds buried within freshly opened. A lump in his throat formed, his swallowing distracting him from the anger that threatened to climb back up when he saw it. Rather, he concentrated on her touch, light though it was, and on her face as a whole. Whatever horrors she'd experienced, she was trying to reach out to him still. Bruce's gut twisted at her attempt at kindness, even in the darkness. He didn't deserve it. Unable to return the gesture, he simply stared at her for a long moment, his tongue unwilling to cooperate (but perfectly willing to linger over the new gap between his molars; the soreness from the punch Tony dealt him still had receded). As much as he longed to do something, even something as miniscule as tucking her fiery hair behind her ear, he couldn't. There was nothing he could say that would make any of the situation right, and there was nothing he could do to change things that had happened.

And neither could she. So he merely looked away, his tired gaze fastening on the floor while she sat beside him, her hand fluttering away and replacing it with her shoulder. Resting side by side, silence permeated the cabin once again.

* * *

 **A/N:** Another long chapter for you guys. Laying it on thickly with a trowel, aren't I? You know, the events of the majority of _Age of Ultron_ happen over the course of a week. That has to have been one emotionally turbulent week. And Holly is soldiering on, but trust me, she's kinda holding it together by a thread at this point. Sometimes life is great...and then other times, you get hit with the shitstick, pardon my language. And we got a hint at what I perceive to be Bruce's deepest fear. I may go into more depth later on...at a certain farmhouse...

I don't own anything from the MCU, _Harry Potter an the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , or the much-used quote from _The Fairly OddParents._ Any other accidental pop culture references, I don't own those, either.

Thanks again to everyone for the well wishes, by the way! I did have a happy birthday...26 is feeling pretty good so far.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	20. Chapter 20

The dark of the night enfolded her as she waited outside the door, the strap of her duffel biting into her shoulder as she stood. Holly tarried in the shadows of the Avengers Tower, the city still rumbling around even in the late hour. Manhattan was never quiet, but at the moment, she felt it was probably as peaceful as it ever could be: the cars rolling by weren't honking overmuch, and there wasn't a press of people on the sidewalk when she'd exited her taxi. The train ride to the city was unremarkable, most of it passed as she dozed fitfully, the arrival at the station jarring her. Having slept curled up against the window, her legs were a bit cramped and she flushed when she pulled away from the cool glass. The cabbie she'd flagged down found her to be lacking as a conversationalist, though she was comprehensive in her directions. She was dropped down the block from the Tower, waiting until the cab had gotten far enough into the flow of traffic that she wouldn't be watched as she made her way to the back entrance.

However, having made it to the Tower itself did not mean she was at ease. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she shot nervous glances around her, hand dropping into her pocket and palming the taser nestled there. The hood of her read sweatshirt had dropped back, and she sighed tiredly. Soon enough, the scrape of the door opening greeted her ears, followed swiftly by the burn of the lights blinding her. The silhouette of another woman was there, the turn of her head revealing her face.

Maria Hill looked exhausted, but she still was able to greet her with a pleasant enough smile. The system in the Tower was still on lockdown, so she had been required to come all the way to the ground floor herself, being the only person in the Tower to do so. In that instance, Holly regretted taking the train; if she'd driven, she'd at least been able to key in for garage access. As it was, it seemed like the older woman was grateful to step away from her office. No doubt she'd been holed up there for hours as reports of the attack on Johannesburg came in, a public relations disaster to the fullest extent that she had to quell.

"You made good time," she remarked lightly, a little surprised at the other woman's earlier-than-expected arrival. When she'd gotten the call, Holly's weak voice asking her to let her in, she was confused. It was common knowledge that she'd be returning to the Tower for safety reasons, but she wasn't truly expected until late morning. A three AM access request beggared belief. Holly shrugged, a corner of her mouth barely lifting as she followed Maria inside, the door latching and locking swiftly behind them.

"Even when you factor in the cab ride," she replied, glancing up at a clock on the wall when they made their way to the elevators. Her fingers fiddled with the strap on her shoulder before one hand rubbed at her eyes. Circles were beginning to form under them, and her head was aching, the burn growing as she leaned against the elevator wall. The majority of the rides and crosses up were done in silence, with Maria bringing her up to the captain's quarters. The curiosity in her gaze was muted, but the assistant still had questions about her abruptness, the quickness of her trip. Not wishing to discuss that, Holly kept her mouth shut until they made it into the living space of the quarters, the bag dropping heavily as she let it fall to the floor. Rather, the rock in her stomach curled tighter as she considered another question to ask.

"Have...have you heard from them?" she wondered, glancing up at Maria. The notifications on her phone had been holding steady at zero, and the longer she went without any internal input, the more the anxiety grew. Steve...was Steve okay? Truly?

"They're all alive and accounted for," she confirmed, a frown turning down her lips. Debating on whether or not to say more, she decided honesty was the best course to pursue. There was a lot of speculation about the condition of the team, and Holly was one of the few people who actually deserved to know the truth. "But it was touch and go for awhile."

Very little of her nerves were alleviated when Holly heard that, and it showed in her face as she swallowed. "Oh."

"The witch got to them, messed with their minds," the assistant explained, frown furrowing her brow. Though she'd known that the Maximoff twins were bound to make moves in the coming days, she hadn't thought to what extent the damage they would do. It wasn't underestimation, per se, but she had assumed that Ultron would be the bigger player. All three had exerted their power, and the joint act was costing the team. "Hence why Banner...well."

There was nothing Holly could say to refute the statement, having heard the numerous news broadcasts for herself. Rather, silence enveloped them, both women lost in their own thoughts. Holly's hands started to shake, her fingers lacing together to stop it as she struggled to keep her breathing even. Tiredness crept through her veins, her head drooping down as everything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours pressed upon her. So much was broken, lost, and she had no idea what she could do. The burn behind her eyes surged, and she blinked against it, trying to stop the reaction her body was performing against her will.

"Hell of a couple days, right?" she tried to joke, her throat thickening on the words. The other woman snorted, the forced joviality of it doing nothing to assuage her. As Maria directed her gaze across the room, to the wall of glass and the city beyond, Holly felt her tight control slip, though she desperately tried to stop it.

"Yeah." Maria sighed, her shoulders hunching against the thought. Glancing back, she was taken aback by the sight of Holly's reddened face, the bunch of the stitches on her forehead as her brow furrowed and she bit her lip. Dread slid down to her gut as she, to her horror, saw tears begin to fill Holly's eyes. Gripping her upper arm, she began to lead the woman over to the couch, free hand steadying her as she went. "Hey, hey. Here, sit."

Falling back into the cushions, Holly brought her knees up to her chest, arms curling around them as she buried her face into her jeans, the tears flowing freely as they hadn't before. A couple had slipped out here and there, but she'd been so focused on getting through the motions of what she'd thought needed to be done first. Losing her job, a good chunk of her forehead, and she could've lost the person she'd loved the most as well. Instead, his brain had been scrambled, and she had to hear about it secondhand. And with barely any sleep in the interim, she couldn't hold on any longer. Conscious of the person beside her, still rubbing her back even despite most likely wanting to bolt, she tried to keep her sobs as silent as possible, the fabric against her face getting soaked. The ends of her sleeves swiped at her eyes almost ineffectually, unable to impede the flow of tears. It was a release that she needed. If that made her weak, then so be it. She didn't care anymore if she seemed that way in front of these great people. She was who she was, and she wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

God, even at this point in her life, she wanted her mother. She wanted to be held, to be told that things would be okay even if they wouldn't be. And she wanted Steve so badly, too, wanted him home safe, even if they jumped right back into the stupid argument they were having. So long as he was there...but it couldn't be helped right then. A couple of gasping coughs racked her body, her arms tightening around her knees.

At some point, she felt the hand smoothly lift from her back, and she assumed that Maria had left, her footfalls deadened by the carpeting as she went. Becoming overheated, she let her feet drop back to the floor, unzipping her hoodie and tossing it towards the end of the couch. Sniffling, she pressed her fingers against her hot face, the tears tracking down slowing finally. Out the corner of her eye, she saw a box of tissues being proffered, the blur of Maria's form distorted by the tears remaining.

"Thanks," she mumbled, the stuffiness in her nose garbling the word. Taking the box, she pulled out a few tissues, swiping at the tear tracks and taking a few breaths to calm herself. Blowing her nose, she winced when Maria's frank gaze swept over her. If she looked as much of a hot mess as she felt, she wouldn't have been surprised. Coughing once more, she murmured, "I-I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry about it," Maria replied, gently stopping her train of thought. A few beats of quiet passed between them, with Hill thinking quickly as to the best way to amend the situation. Uncomfortable as she felt, she couldn't very well just ditch her in the moment of grief. There was more going on than she was letting on, she'd been able to read that very clearly off both her and Steve, and clearly something else had piled on. "Do you want to talk..."

Immediately, Holly shook her head, not wanting to reopen the wound that she had hastily bandaged over mere moments before. A few fingers flicked in the air, brushing the idea away. The assistant glimpsed the door at the far end of the hall over her shoulder.

"If you want to get some sleep, I'll clear out."

Again, Holly indicated a denial, crossing her arms over her chest as she snorted up at the ceiling. "I napped on the train. That's enough for now."

Maria would have objected, but the mulish set of Holly's jaw stopped her, as well as the fact that she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. Sure, they may not be the best decisions, but it wasn't as if Maria held any true sway over her person. Instead, she looked for another solution, one that could help occupy the girl's mind if she was refusing to let it rest. Lighting upon something, the wheels turning swiftly as she spoke, though her demeanor remained outwardly placid.

"Well, I've got a whole bevy of news reports and media dumps to trawl through," she expressed, observing the ruddy-faced woman's eyebrows incline as she spoke. Holly said nothing to that, instead shrugging a shoulder in question. Tipping her head to the left, Maria spelled it out for her. "Would be helpful if you wanted to take some of that on while I field the numerous and joyous phone calls I've been receiving almost nonstop."

Holly expelled another ragged breath, doing one last swipe with a clean tissue before tossing it on the pile she'd created beside her. Her problems would not be solved with a good weeping, though it had been a curative for her, and they wouldn't be solved quickly in any case. She didn't want to be mired in her emotions for the moment, she didn't want to cry herself to sleep (though she was sorely tempted). If she couldn't do her job out in the world anymore, then perhaps she could be useful here, even it was only for a night. Nodding, she got to her feet, taking a moment to take the binder out of her braid. Shaking and combing her hair loose with her fingers—it had grown out from her cut in January, just above shoulder length now—she left it to hang in a mess of waves to stem the headache that was pulsing. Going into the bathroom, she came back moments later, palming some aspirin in one hand and gesturing for Maria to lead the way with the other.

"Sure, if you make some coffee," she stipulated, keeping close behind the taller brunette. Maria wrinkled her nose, but she dipped her chin in agreement. Studying the younger woman in her peripherals, the assistant allowed herself a cryptic smirk.

"You're a cheap employee," she stated blandly, while Holly snickered at the perceived joke.

"I may demand a raise if things get tougher," she shot back, dry swallowing the tabs in hand a few seconds later when they boarded the elevator again.

Maria's bright gaze gleamed as she watch the floor numbers climb on the digital interface. "Noted."

 **xXxXxXx**

The shock had not entirely dissipated. Steve wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen the proof with his own eyes.

The brightness of the day, early morning sun piercing through the haze, highlighted the green fields and lush outcroppings of trees as Barton landed the quinjet. The radar pinged, registering their location as Nebraska of all places. A safe house, he'd promised them, nestled where no one would think to look for them. A place where they could recover, push away from the brink and get back to themselves. The archer led the way up a beaten track, Natasha's arm slung over his shoulder as he helped her along. Tony and Thor were hot on their heels, curious about their arrival in the middle of farmland. Banner, like Steve, said nothing, just stumbling along with his eyes darting everywhere. The two story house that loomed beyond the wooden fence was offset by a few weathered outbuildings, and was a cheery light yellow amidst the green. An old truck was parked alongside of it, a clunker if the captain ever saw one (the voice of Hank filtered through his mind then, confidence that he could make the thing picture perfect again showing through before he brushed the thought away). The wraparound porch was empty, though a set of chairs and some toys were scattered along the planks. Noticing this as he followed his compatriots, Steve frowned in question. Toys...there were children here? The door yielded under the archer's free hand, revealing a long front hall, a modest carpet running the length over polished wood. Turning into a living room, the space opened up onto a kitchen, the furniture comfortable and obviously lived-in. The whole space was airy and bright, and decorated with a myriad of hand-drawn pictures. The coffee table was littered with construction paper, some of it cut into stars and other shapes. As Steve began to piece together the evidence with the most likely conclusion, Clint beat him to the punch.

The archer called out, letting Natasha step off to the side and collapse on the arm of the couch. The floor creaked at the far end, alerting them to the entrance of another person. She was of middling height, long brown hair framing an oval face. Her eyes lit up upon spying Clint, and one of her hands dropped to her belly, drawing all the entire team's attention to her pregnancy. Dropping the papers she was holding on her other hand on the table as she passed, she sidled up to Clint quickly, going straight into his arms for a kiss.

Nonplussed, Stark found his tongue after a second or two. "We're in an agents' nest. Has to be."

That had garnered a few sideways glances, but the purported agent said nothing about the comment. Rather, she just grinned in greeting as Clint wrapped his arm around her waist and introduced her as Laura. Bringing up her left hand to wave a hello, the glint of a gold band caught Steve's eye, made his breath shorten for a moment. Stamping came down the stairs, to which Barton reacted with pleasure. Around the corner came two kids, a boy around eleven or twelve and a girl approximately seven years old. Caught up in their father's arms, they chattered happily as Clint held them close. The little girl, Lila as her father called her, asked about Auntie Nat. Four sets of eyebrows shot up as Natasha rose from her seat, unapologetic as she reached out for the girl and swung her up into her arms.

Clint Barton had a wife, a family, and Natasha knew about it. Sharing a questioning look with Banner, the captain merely held down his shock long enough to apologize on behalf of the team for interrupting their lives. Tony pointed out that it would have been avoided, had they known the family existed in the first place. Due to Fury's influence, Barton had them struck from the record when he first joined SHIELD, and it had remained that way. Happy clamoring swirled around him, the surreality of the moment piercing them all.

The most lost of them was the god, staring about the home with such blankness that it was unsettling. As the little girl drew up to him, stared into his trouble eyes, something in his expression seemed to break. The ting of the toaster popping broke through, and a shudder rushed through his form. Stalking away, his crimson cloak floated behind him. Quickly, Steve followed, his brow creasing as he watched his friend clamber down the outside steps.

"Where are you going?"

The god stepped out into the clear patch of grass in front of the house, firmness in his voice. "The girl's dream will not leave my mind; it's taunting me with something I cannot name."

Shooting an almost sad look at the building, he began to swing his hammer, preparing to go.

"I shall return, once I know what it is."

With that, he let Mjolnir soar, taking him high into the air and away from them all. Steve was unable to get any form of protest in, instead left with his gaze directed to the heavens, and the weight of his heart still heavy. One more, gone. He could only hope Thor would find his answers, and soon. Shifting on his feet, he turned to go back into the house, a chill coursing through. A house, a home...

" _You can't just leave it all and go home."_ Peggy's voice reverberated in his mind, and he sighed. Turning away, he clattered down the steps, determined to make himself useful. Heading back to the quinjet to gather up the emergency bags stowed aboard, clothes and supplies for each team member if they were ever stranded somewhere. Slinging two over his shoulders (straps situated awkwardly over the shield upon his harness) and taking the other two in hand, he swallowed down the pain that had surfaced. Maybe, after a change of clothes, some food and some rest, he could find answers, too.

 **xXxXxXx**

The water in the bathroom ran, and Natasha sighed, fingers toying with the change of clothes and towel in her arms. Whoever was in there was taking their time, but she didn't mind it too much. For the first time in hours, she was alone; Barton and his family were outside, presumably working on the never-ending projects Clint had taken upon himself ever since he and Laura first bought the farmhouse. The other teammates were off, and knowing Laura's sweetness and tenaciousness, she most likely had them taking on chores as well, with a smile on their faces at helping her out. She appreciated the time apart, her whirling thoughts slowing down as she sat there, the unbroken quiet different from the atmosphere on the quinjet. The spare bedroom she was in, one of a few in the large house, also doubled as the crafting room, a sewing table and boxes of buttons and shiny thing by the far windows. It was the room Natasha like the best; it felt like home, a strange feeling she hardly ever got in any other place. A couple fingers dropped to the quilt beneath on the bed, picking at it for a second to remove a speckle of dust. Tilting her head back, she stared at the ceiling, allowing her dream, her vision, to come back to her. A grimace painted her lips as she did so, her shoulders tightening underneath her borrowed robe.

The Red Room. It was always there, whether or not Natasha wanted it to be. The source of her worst nightmares, the childhood that was warped and destroyed, replaced with terror and pain. Little girls of no name, no family, put into the program when they had no other option, and more often than not those little girls were fragile, snapping over time. Except for the strongest, who endured and even thrived on the horror, on the violence; those little girls became hard, harsh women. Beautiful machines of destruction and evil. And she had proven to be one of those.

The graduation ceremony. A horror no fifteen-year-old should ever face, let alone go through. The endgame to all the training such a girl as her had endured, the certification to make her worthy of all they had made her to be. But she had, and had done so willingly. After a fashion, at least; in her vision, she could see the tears she had not felt sliding down her face, the fear that made her breathe hard and fast, strapped to the rolling gurney with no escape. No escape from Madame, or from the choices made. The choices she allowed them to make.

Inability to achieve motherhood, to be the matriarch of a family. She wanted to say they had robbed her of that choice, but deep down, she knew they hadn't. She'd let them do it to her. She did not fight it, she had known it was coming. It was necessary, Madame had told her, to be what she was trained to be. No loose ends, nothing to distract her from the mission. Though the procedure had frightened her, the cost of it did not weigh down upon her until she'd freed herself. When Clint Barton rescued her at eighteen and brought her to SHIELD, only then did she realize the choices she'd made. They'd removed everything that made Natalia Romanova who she was before she could understand, replaced her with a Black Widow, a master assassin of their order. As she was rebuilt piece by piece, with Clint's aid, she could reflect on the damage she had wrought, and allowed them to use her to perform. Natasha had been sickened to her soul when it all was thrown into the harsh light of reality, and promptly stuffed it down into a box, at the back of her mind, with no other witness to her pain but her new-found friend.

That box had been blown wide open, the tear in her soul gaping and bleeding. Certainly, she could claim innocence, the fact that she had been too young to truly understand what they would take away from her, but...it did not sit well with her. Natasha was strong as a child, far stronger than some had given her credit for, but she'd let Madame and the trainers slip in, the cracks filled with their motives and their strictures. It gave the organization structure, and somehow by giving girls like Natasha an outlet, a form of belonging, they held them prisoner, broke them down into pliable servants.

She'd let them do it, and she didn't even bat an eyelash. They took away her choices, without a single protest made.

What kind of monster was she to allow such a thing to happen? To have them take away her rights to a life, a family, without fighting for it? To turn a young girl into a devious woman, and for her to be glad for that? How horrible was she to be a killer, and to only too late realized that there was more to be had in life than that, if it weren't for her choices?

That would never happen again, she'd vowed long ago; she would kill anyone who sought to control her destiny. She was the one to make choices about her life, without any input from another.

Well, it depended on the other person, she supposed. The water sound disappeared, and she tore her eyes from the ceiling in time to meet Bruce's gaze. His dark curls were still wet, tousled after a few swipes from the towel. His expression was less haggard than before, his recovery coming swiftly. The man had taken the reins again, though his tiredness at doing so pervaded his person. Just a man.

A man who called himself a monster, but was nothing of the sort. Not to her.

Their meeting was awkward, the conversation that in other circumstances would be playful banter stilted instead. Still, it didn't smother the fire burning inside her, burying the fears as she looked at him, dark curls and eyes, the button-up shirt framing his torso as he left it open. And in that awkwardness, the genuine feeling rose, and for once Natasha Romanoff did not want to hide from it, or lie her way out of it. She wanted Bruce, wanted him to be with her, whatever the cost, whatever the distance they had to tread. If he ran, she would follow, she told him. She did not have to stay where she did not want to, not ever again. The poor man just looked at her, graven and heartbroken as he called her crazy for even considering him a viable option, and pangs swept through her heart. He said that he couldn't give her a future, or at least not a future that resembled the life in the farmhouse. A future that he assumed she craved, and in the lowest parts of herself, envied Barton for having.

The utter sadness on her face pulled him up short as she whispered, "Me, either."

This was where her choices had led her, she reasoned to herself. Under the knife, under the harsh light, she exposed herself, allowing a part of her to be excised, to show whom she had become. If she truly wanted this, wanted him, she had to let him know about her darkest parts. Living in ignorance would avail them nothing, and in truth she didn't wish for it. Something black and terrible had made her just as much of a beast, though she masked it with iciness and beauty. But Bruce, he believed that there was something good underneath, could reach for it.

And as she reached for him, she gave him the chance. If they had to disappear to make it so, then they could.

 **xXxXxXx**

Walking down the lane, the sounds of birds and nature surrounding him, Steve inhaled deeply. Striding down the long, dirt path, he tucked his hands into his jeans pockets, a rock bouncing off the toe of his boot as he went. Having never resided in the country, he could completely understand the initial appeal. Out there, far away from the lights and noise, one could breathe. One could think. And he'd definitely needed to start thinking hard.

Once he'd finished with his turn in the shower, he was at a loss for something to do. A hand placed gently on his arm pulled him into the present, Mrs. Barton's wide gaze friendly as she asked him for a favor. She'd forgotten to get the mail the day before, and normally she would ask one of the kids to fetch it for her, but they were so occupied with their father...following her glance back towards, he could see for himself how overjoyed the children were to see their dad. They'd ringed around him, the smallest one in his lap and the older one bringing paper forward for him to look at. Clint, smile becoming broader, ruffled his son's hair before planting a peck on his daughter's temple. A part of him ached at seeing it, even if he could appreciate it happening. Before she could say another word, Steve nodded, agreeing to do as she asked. It was the least he could do, intruding on the private sanctuary they had built.

Steve had had many hours to relive what he was forced to see, to experience. Much time was lost in his own mind, the majority of the flight consumed by it. The fear was latent, resting in his soul, and the Maximoff girl had forced him to face the ugliest side of himself. But it was something he would choose to face; a great man once said the only thing to fear was fear itself, and he did not want to be afraid of what he'd seen. The side he'd been exposed to was the very one that Ultron had taunted him with: the one that survived off of war. For so long, he'd been fighting, serving, caught in the battles for good over evil in several different theatres. It had cost him so much, in the past and in the present. But the potential to lose more loomed on the horizon, with each passing day. Death was not something he feared, not any longer...not for himself. It was the death of others, the idea of the death of the person most precious to him that made his heart ache, his skin crawling. That who he was, what he did, would harm Holly just for being around him was something that worried him from the beginning of their friendship, and had escalated as their relationship did. A small part of him had acknowledged its continual presence, but as the last few days had shown, it had not been an invalid concern (much as he wished it to be).

It made him doubt his own convictions, for a time. Steve loved Holly, wanted to marry her, but he was also putting her more at risk. How could he do that to her? That thought had circled more times in his mind than he cared to count, and still he could not find an answer for himself. Options played out, all ending in bitter heartbreak and entirely not what he wanted. Living without her was...it was just impossible now. But, should he...

"Captain Rogers?" a meek voice cut into his private musings. Drawn out of them, he glanced down, the little girl in braids and cotton dress reaching out a hand. "Mommy says thanks for getting the mail."

Furrowing his brow, his eyes went to his own hand, envelopes and flyers filling it. Looking around, he hadn't realized he'd made the entire trip and back in a fog. Carefully, he passed the stack off to the young one.

"No problem. Lila, right?" he asked, her nod making her braids bounce against her back. Idly, he thought of Holly's niece Jodie; the two girls were of an age, and full of energy to boot. In her free hand was a paintbrush, and he let his mouth soften into a grin. "You did all the pictures inside?"

"Yep!" she pronounced proudly, waving the brush a little as she did so. Her bright eyes danced as she spoke. "I got some new paint this week! Didja like them?"

"Yeah. They're really nice," he told her, watching her beam grow wider and her thanks flowing freely as she ran off. Sighing under his breath, a whistle to his left caught his attention. Tony was there, flannel shirt tied around his waist as he attempted to scale back on the pile of wood that needed splitting. He'd been drafted into the chore, a promise of cookies from the missus in exchange for helping with the tasks Clint had neglected around the farm. Figured he might as well make himself useful, since they were stuck there for awhile, anyway. A second ax was perched on a block beside him, the gesture of his hand telling Rogers to have at it. Taking it up, the pile was whittled down enough that it was separated into two, the larger one more and more allocated to him than to Stark. The repetitive nature of it was therapeutic, the bunch and coil of his muscles giving him a release that his mind could not. And in turn, it allowed his churning mind to settle.

Meanwhile, Tony took the opportunity to ask whether Thor had said where he was going. For answers, they knew that much, but he did not give a location or amount of time it would take. Steve told his teammate as much, hauling another log to be split. Some of the quelled anger rose, coloring his words as he sniped at the other man, about how there was a lack of communication between team members. His eyes traveled to the porch briefly, observing Clint as he measured a balustrade with his son, Lila rocking in the chair behind the pair. His gaze flicked up to the house and back to Tony again, dark guileless eyes staring back. And it wasn't only them, his brain whispered, the argument with Holly resurfacing in the moment. Still, he'd figured out of all of the Avengers, the god would be the one most likely to share when things went awry. Swinging his ax, Stark grunted, reminding him that they had no idea what his vision had been about, and therefore couldn't make a judgment call. The captain snorted at the entire situation, remarking how easily they were ripped apart. Like cotton candy, he muttered, his friend stiffening in his stance as he watched him line up another log.

"And you came away without a scratch," Stark said, a snap in his tone as he regarded his leader with suspicion. Caught off-guard by the comment, Steve stopped in his motions, brow furrowing. The other man had no idea what he was saying. There was no walking away from what he'd seen, and the fact that Tony assumed otherwise irritated him. For all that they'd gotten to know each other over the last few years, and for all of Stark's purported genius, he still was unaware of so much about Steve's true character. Raising an eyebrow at him, he waited as Tony shrugged him off, tone turning more tart as he spoke again. "Or so it seems. Wouldn't know; do you even have a dark side?"

"Everyone does." The shot hit Steve square in the chest, but he didn't allow himself to flinch. "Just because you haven't seen it yet doesn't mean it's not there."

And he would know; he'd spent the better part of eight hours trapped there. Scoffing, Tony waved a hand, stopping him from continuing his work. With Ultron trying to tear them apart, they had to remain focused. The captain rolled his eyes, and stated how if that was the case, then perhaps Tony should've spoken up about it sooner. He should've spoken up about the whole situation sooner. The billionaire crossed his arms over his chest, reiterating with growing irritation how he'd been conducting research with Banner.

"Which you decided to keep to yourselves," Steve pointed out, slamming his ax into the stump again. The log he'd been trying to split refused to do so, and he picked it up, feeling along it to find a weak spot. "This could have been avoided, or prevented entirely, but you said nothing."

"Because I didn't think we had to! I didn't want the debate; I wanted the solution. If it had worked, it would have been a great one. This twisted, toxic circle we're caught in could have been ended, the world would be safe, and we'd be free. Wouldn't you want that, too?!" Tony's voice rose with every iteration, driving home the crux of his choice. He hadn't done it for vainglorious reasons. He'd wanted Ultron to stop them from getting lost in their missions, to prevent the worst from ever happening again.

Frustrated, Steve tugged apart the stubborn wood in his hands, the pieces separating and flying as he let them drop to the ground. Grinding his teeth briefly, he looked back up at Tony, seeing the anguish and determination in his eyes. His own blue gaze was icy in the face of it.

"What I want is irrelevant. This isn't about me, or the team; it's about the world, and what they could handle. You tried to prevent something out of your control," he stated flatly, calm in the face of the billionaire's onslaught. It was the point that the other man missed over and over again when he defended his actions, and Steve no longer wished to see him spared of the knowledge. What he'd been doing was just as dangerous as what he'd tried to prevent, and one could argue even more so. No matter if his reasons were altruistic; lives were at stake now, when they shouldn't have been. "And it's not just going to be us paying the price for this. It will be everyone."

A throat clearing caught both their attentions, Mrs. Barton stepping forward hesitantly. Meekly, she indicated that her husband had thought it would be alright to ask Tony to take a look at the family tractor. Effectively separating the two volatile men with a simple request, she gave the captain a smile as she guided Stark away, his admonition about not taking from his pile barely stinging as he went. Exhaling sharply, Steve went back to his task, minutes flying by as he eventually made it down to the last log. When it was apparent that his erstwhile friend would not be return anytime soon, he went against the mandate and finished the work, sweat dripping down his face and his arms well warmed up. Tipping his head back up to the sky, he noted the sun had slid further in it before the scent of sugar called him back to Earth.

"Thanks for your help," Mrs. Barton said, holding out a tray of cookies as she'd promised. Shrugging a shoulder, she went on, "With Clint not being around lately, it's been taking forever to get done. I have no problems hefting an ax, but, well."

A gesture to her belly spoke more than words could. Taking a few cookies, Steve dipped his chin respectfully.

"Happy to help, ma'am."

"I'm sorry to be asking you all to do this," she apologized, sighing a little as she glanced around her expansive yard. Steve did as well, thinking that it had to be tough, running the plot of land with two young kids and a third on the way, with a spouse who was home very little. Canting her head to the right, towards the back of the house, she paused before asking another favor. "Could I trouble you to stack it between the posts by the wood stove, too? If it's not too much to ask. It can wait, I mean, otherwise, not a big deal."

Quickly devouring the treat in hand, Steve swallowed hard, cutting off her backtracking. "I can do it."

As he moved to start the task, a few of the woman's fingers fluttered in the air, distracting him. "Clint told me about your engagement, by the way. Congratulations."

His throat went dry at her words, and he had to cough to loosen it up. "Thank you."

"She—Holly—sounds nice," she said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. The corner of the captain's mouth lifted, but he said nothing. Lifting a shoulder, she continued, "Clint's talked about her a bit. Says she's pretty resilient, getting back up even after being thrown down during their practices."

Steve nodded, having lived with that truth for some time. "She's stronger than she lets on."

"Must be," Laura commiserated. She knew firsthand how seriously her husband took his work. Training someone to defend her life against others would not be simple, nor would he ever make it so. Her grip tightened around the tray in her hands, a couple lines cutting into her forehead. "Though I bet she's been worried sick over the last few days, despite that."

The captain's head drooped as his chest constricted. He hadn't spoken to her since they'd left, had denied even leaving a message for her until he got himself sorted out. Perversely, he'd done it so she wouldn't worry overmuch, but he knew her better than that. Guilt coursed through his veins, and his cheeks burned.

"Amongst other things," he murmured, almost to himself. Glancing up, he caught Mrs. Barton's barely suppressed grimace, her eyes fixing on the middle distance. Prompted by her posture, Steve went on, "Must have been tough for you, too."

"Life with an Avenger can be, knowing that there's someone out there with your loved one in the cross-hairs. But..." she trailed off, looking over her shoulder to her family, her home, the bluntness softened by the happiness in her returning smile, "it is what it is, and I've stuck with him through it all. Not easy, but it's our life, and I'm glad for what we do have. What we have isn't bad."

"Can't guarantee a safe future," Steve muttered, looking at the homestead as well, something he'd never had, a dream that had been abandoned in the past until recently. A dream that he doubted he could touch, deep down.

The look his teammate's wife gave him was calm, unwavering honesty decorating her entire face. "Nobody can, Steve, no matter who you are or what you do. It's still worth the time we have now."

Silence descended on the pair, the distant chatter of the children and the creaks and whistles of the trees the only dialogue that remained. Slowly, carefully, Steve inclined his chin, and Laura grinned again, a sigh floating out of her. Hooking a thumb backward, she began to back away from the soldier towards the ramshackle outbuilding looming on the edge of the property.

"Anyway, I'll just go check on Tony in the barn. Give him his cookie ration," she said, shifting the tray in her grip enticingly. "Thanks again, Captain."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Barton," he intoned lightly, though his serious gaze was focused on the wood at his feet, mind churning. He missed her answering grin, but not her gentle reprimand.

"Next time, call me Laura."

The muted thuds of her footsteps petered off as she went, and Steve concentrated on completing his chore. Back and forth he carried armloads of wood to the posts, stacking them neatly while the wheels turned in his mind. Thinking back on the dream as he worked, he understood what he truly needed to do: he needed to learn from it. While it was due to negligence that Holly had been shot (the memory of her blood made a shiver course down his spine), the feeling in his gut told him it could only come true if he let it. The vision had shown him destruction of his happiness could come from his own shortcomings as well as from outside forces. If they let it break them down from the inside, then there would be no cause to fight for. Nothing in life was simple, he reminded himself, and nothing worth having was easy work.

" _It's not over, Steve. It can't end this way."_ Holly's words rushed back to him, the rightness in them resounding. No, it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Holly was intelligent, intelligent to the point of knowing what a trial it would be to even be involved with him in a friendly manner, let alone the romantic one it had evolved to. She'd understood what was and wasn't in his control, as well as her own. And she was employing measures to keep up with whatever changes occurred. Granted, it was a little late, but seeking the self-defense training was still a step towards that. She was not adept at fighting, but she was learning, improving, for her sake as much as his own. She'd stood by him in after one of the lowest points of his life and career, and she had not run away when trouble reared its head. She was adapting, not allowing herself to be the passive girl in his vision, the passive girl she could have been in the past.

She wasn't allowing what might be to mar what already was. Perhaps it was naivety, but it was the reality of her life. Because she loved him, loved him enough to embrace the fact that his fear might become realized. She would fight for him. Maybe even...and he would, too. Because he loved her.

If that made him selfish, then perhaps this could be one of the few instances in his life that could be claimed as much. He would keep fighting for what they had, even at the greatest cost.

Resolve hardened within him, pulling him to his full height as he paused for a moment. One stranger, who did not have the full measure of him or his fiancee, would not manipulate his life or his heart. They could not continue as before, that much was clear; he couldn't allow her to go on taking second place. More danger lay that way. But they could figure it out. That fear could be put to bed, or better yet, to use.

Coming around the corner of the house for another load, he was preempted by a hand pressing against his shoulder. Clint stood there, the weight of the world that seemed to be present at other times having melted away. His bright eyes glittered, the smirk twitching up his lips as he waved his leader off.

"You're relieved for the time being, Cap. Cooper and I can cover this," he said, nodding down to the boy that hovered behind him. The kid looked between the two men, a sour look surfacing briefly at the idea of taking over the chore.

Steve frowned. "Are you sure? Because—"

"Just go. Take some time off," the archer cut him off soundly, blocking him bodily from getting closer to the woodpile. "Be productive with it, say by getting in touch with Gracie Lou."

Though it was a suggestion, he could tell by the tone of his friend and his posture that he would brook no refusals. Clint understood better than anyone—the proof before all their eyes—the importance of making loved ones a priority. It would do the captain some good to take a page out of his book. Stepping back, the captain drew in a deep breath, a touch of humor gracing his face. He'd been putting it off long enough. It was time for him to summon his courage (get up his cajones, Tony's voice rang sharply in his mind) and do so.

"You know what? You're right, Barton," he replied, wiping the splinters dotting his hands off on his pants. Catching the smug look on his teammate's face, Steve allowed himself a mock snort. "For once."

"Glad to hear it..." the other man said, not perturbed in the least at the joking insult. Letting Steve get a coupe feet away, he chose to sigh audibly and groan under his breath, "Dumbass."

The captain paused, a scoff flying out as he asked politely, "Pardon, Hawkeye?"

"I said, 'Glad to hear it, _boss_ '," the fellow deflected, the glimmer in his gaze growing exponentially. Steve raised an eyebrow at him before shaking his head.

"Uh-huh. And people say I'm bad at lying."

"Oh, you are, Cap," he confirmed, all but laughing in his leader's face. Inclining his head towards the bank of trees sheltering the quinjet, he muttered, "You're much better at stalling. Shoo."

Making the motion with his hands, he was pleased when the captain snickered to himself and turned towards the dirt footpath. Taking up an an armful of wood, the older man gestured for his boy to do his part.

Cooper glanced over his shoulder as he began to help, waiting until the other man was completely out of earshot before speaking up. "Setting up Captain America to call his girlfriend is kinda lame and girly, Dad."

Clint chuckled humorlessly, though a corner of his mouth raised. "Yeah, I know, buddy."

One way or another, he had to do it. Clint would never hear the end of it otherwise, no matter who the source was. It was just better all around, for everyone to start healing. Ultron was waiting on the fringes, and if they wanted to best him, they had to get kicked back into play, sooner rather than later.

* * *

 **A/N:** What? Another chapter in less than a week's time? My, I'm spoiling you guys...:-P Really, I'm spoiling myself, because I finished this chapter ahead of time and I really couldn't wait any longer to share it. Also, holy balls, my chapters are getting longer and longer...sorry if you're looking for a quick read.

I guesstimated on the location of the Barton homestead, putting in somewhere in the range of north of Omaha, Nebraska. Just barely on the opposite side of the Iowa-Nebraska border, if we get slightly more specific. That's my mental map, since the Marvel Wiki only claims it's somewhere in the Midwest.

I know some of you were concerned that Steve would push Holly away for her own safety after his vision. However, this was never my plan; in my mind, it's the easy way out, and Steve Rogers doesn't exactly take the easy way out of anything. If he wants something badly enough, he will continue to push and fight for it, no matter the cost. Yes, he's noble, and self-sacrificing, and he endures great amounts of pain to keep surviving, but I think cutting her off from him would not be anything of those things. Besides, they both knew the risks when they started the relationship, and to give up at the first sign of trouble is not what either of them are about. He just needed a minute to screw his head back on after Wanda twisted it sideways. Perhaps this is unreal to you, and might turn you off of the story now, but that's what I think. Also, the notion of pushing the loved one away to save them from yourself...it's gotten to the point of common in fanfic that it's pretty cliché, in my experience, at least. It's used for a lot of reasons, some of them good, but I don't want to go too cliché here.

Also, Natasha. Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. There was so much hate in regards to what happened to her in _Age of Ultron_ , particularly when she confessed how the Red Room training robbed her a chance at motherhood. Yes, women should not be defined by their ability to mother children, but I believe it had more to do with the fact that, at a young age, they took away her choices, and more to the point, she let them do it to her. Natasha has shown how strong and capable a woman she is, so a part of her must hate herself for being "weak" enough to let manipulators in her head and control her life that way, because she didn't know anything different and most likely didn't want to know anything different at the time. I believe her greatest fear is to be robbed of her freedom of choice, which she's discovered since she's been "freed" from the KGB. Even when she worked for SHIELD, she did it on her terms because she wanted it, not because she was brainwashed into it. The Red Room represents that, and sterilization is driving home point of that. Anyway, I hope I did justification to that idea. Whether or not you agree with it is up to you, but I hope it made what's going on in her mind a little more...palatable, let's say. And yes, I made her barely a teenager when she went through the "graduation ceremony". I'm of the opinion that spies in this universe don't have great longevity, and they'd want to get agents out in the field as soon as possible...and nobody would look at a teen and think they were capable of such things, generally. That's the end of my overlong explanation.

And if I were Holly, I probably would've broken down into tears well before she did. Okay, I definitely would have bawled well before her. At least some of the future bodes a little well...better than the last couple of chapters of drama, haha.

I don't own anything from the MCU, as well as any pop culture/movie references made in the text.

Next chapter will finally get to Steve and Holly talking again. Also, we're going to touch on Thor's special side trip. That one will probably take a bit of time, so it most likely won't be up until next Friday or Saturday.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	21. Chapter 21

The hatch behind him sealed, cutting him off effectively from the outside world. Through the glass of the cockpit, the bright daylight shimmered through the leaves of the trees, the canopy sheltering the quinjet from above. Steve seated himself at the side console, tapping his fingers at the keyboard and checking that the stealth panels were still in place. That accomplished, after a mental walk-through (Tony had insisted on teaching him slow and easy, the tone he'd taken earning him a sock in the shoulder as he did so from an unamused captain), he opened up a channel to establish contact with the Tower. The reception out there wasn't the best, but it would do for the time being. Following the prompts to find the correct outlet, he took a few deep breath as he waited for the call to be answered.

The blankness of the screen disappeared after a few more seconds, the display filling with light. The living area of his quarters came into view, the glass walls letting in the natural light. His eyes were greeted by the sight he wanted to see most: his fiancée. Disheveled, clothes thrown on haphazardly and her face deeply exhausted, but it was his fiancée nonetheless.

"Holly," he said, relief flooding through his chest to see her there, having arrived safe and unharmed. In turn, she gave him a tired smile, her red-rimmed eyes showing pleasure at seeing him. Guilt hit him again, even harder than before.

"Steven," she murmured, her fingers actually reach out to touch the screen on her end. Something in her throat caught, and she had to cough to clear it away. "I'm...I'm so glad to see that you're, well...okay."

He shrugged at that, gazing at her for a few long moments. "More or less."

It was an answer he'd given her often enough when he'd returned from missions, but this was one of the few times where he felt he fell into the lesser end of the statement. Something in his expression must have given that away, as her face creased with concern. Looking at the shadows under her eyes, the pallor of her skin, he could see for himself that she had not fared better.

His eyebrows drew together, worry lacing his voice. "And you? Are you okay?"

"At the moment?" she replied, a snort coming out before she could stop it. Lifting a shoulder, she sighed. "I guess so."

Silence cropped up then, in which the pair simply looked at one another. Her fingers went to the ever-present chain at her neck, fiddling with the dog tags that were hanging at the end of it. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed painfully as she grinned ruefully at him again.

"It's good to see you," she said, the latent longing she'd fought to keep at bay surfacing right then. His heart thumped harder at hearing it, knowing how much he reciprocated. A flash of memory, her face racked in pain, life falling away from her, hit him squarely and he squeezed his eyes shut. Guilt, shame, rose up and he did not bother to beat it down. Inhaling sharply, his blue eyes latched onto her brown ones, his elbows resting on the console as he leaned forward.

"I'm sorry it took me so long. I'm sorry that...I guess I'm just sorry." He let his head droop, a sarcastic snort of derision at himself coming out. "For a lot of things."

Glancing up, he noticed that although she nodded in commiseration, she had nothing to say to that. His eyebrow inclined as she continued to keep her mouth shut.

"Are you waiting for me to list them?" he inquired then, tipping a palm out at her. Her head slanted to the right, and her attempt at a humorous quirk of the lips was not lost on him, but it wasn't very strong.

"You could start with the crosshatch on my head, if not for calling sooner," she supplied soon enough, pointing at the stitches, and she tried to chuckle a little. "Because that one is totally on you, Coffee Table Flipper."

When he did nothing but wince and look away, she realized that perhaps making light of the situation was not called for at that instant. Sighing deeply, she curled her arms around herself, chewing her bottom lip for a moment.

"But it's not like you're the only guilty party here. And it's...this has been just..."

There was a lot unsaid in the pause that followed, but it did not merit an explanation. Steve knew what she was feeling, was feeling it to a stronger degree himself. It was hard to deal with, but it had to be done.

"I know," he told her, the weight of his words keeping her attention. "Everything has been changing, good and bad."

"A lot of bad. Some of it out of our control," she remarked, eyebrows inclining pointedly. He nodded to that.

"Some of them hard choices to make, no matter what the circumstances," he responded, sitting up straighter in his seat. Swallowing again, Steve found his gumption, and went on. "I...I've been forced to think, consider everything. Priorities...have changed, and I've got to change with them."

The truth was sinking in, hard, permeating throughout his person as he finally made the admission. Holly appeared to be holding her breath for a few moments, and Steve, deep down, knew she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But when he did not say anything else, she let it out slowly.

"We both do. For better or worse, right?" Her partial grin was punctuated by the lifting of her left hand, her thumb tapping the inside of her claddagh. Steve smirked, inclining his head as the expression melted away.

"It could get a lot worse before it gets better."

She nodded again, but did not let her dark gaze waver from his. "I know. But no matter what, I'm not going anywhere. I mean that, Steve."

The emphasis of her words, the guilelessness of her eyes, impacted him, and he let them do so.

"Me, too," he confessed shortly after, shaking his head. "We've got work to do when this is all over."

If everything turned out right, if Ultron was defeated...the future banked on the ifs. But he did not intend to let the possibility of it to be taken away from them. It would be a when, to him. Holly shot him a dismal look, but did not comment on his choice of words. Rather, she just snorted again, cutting her eyes away and pressing a finger to her temple.

"I'm well aware of that. I'm willing to do it..." she murmured, trailing off as she noticed Steve's expression turning sour, his jaw working as he thought. Considering it, she could not help herself. "It was really bad over there, wasn't it?"

The emotions on his face warred for precedence, all disconcerting. Despair coupled with sadness, muted rage and confusion joining together and chasing one another inside him, and it reflected outward. It was strong enough to make her gasp softly.

"Oh, baby," she breathed, the whispered endearment cracking something inside him. God, he wanted her with him so badly, wanted her close and in his arms. Hesitantly, she broached the subject again. "Can...can you talk about it?"

A common question between them, one that often was met with a negative, but this time, he didn't want that. Sighing, he muttered, "A little. If you've got time to spare."

"For you, always," she said, moving off to drag a chair over to place it in front of the display. The slowness of her movements, the lines of her face, became more pronounced as she did so, and the flutters came back to his stomach. However, she undercut his concerns with a snicker and a mumble. "Nerfherder."

Undeterred, he rolled his eyes, gesturing to the screen as she sat down. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours, Princess."

 **xXxXxXx**

The cavern echoed, the water of the pool rippling as trickles of water dripped from the roof. Erik Selvig felt a chill run up his spine as he followed after Thor into the enclosed space, and he could not attribute it to the cool temperature inside. The water was no innocent pool, but a reflecting pool. A way to communicate to the creatures of old, connecting to each of the Nine Realms. The god had informed him of such when he'd arrived in London mere hours ago, taking the doctor from his planned evening of grading and prepping the next day's lecture. While Selvig was more than willing to assist the god in his venture, even when it promised danger, it did not sit well with him.

Much more was at stake than the necessity of finding answers. It was a dream that had driven the god on, at the hand of an Enhanced being. Reviewing the course of events over the last day, he left Erik with much to think about as he went to the shops in the city, gathering the necessary supplies while the god waited for him to return. The reports of what happened in Johannesburg did not tell much of what happened to the other members of the Avengers, merely that the Hulk had gone on a rampage. This...this was a strange twist of events. While the doctor did not put much stock into dreams, he knew better than to question his friend. Thor knew much of things that he, Selvig, understood little. And what was shown to the bigger fellow had given him cause for fear. But he did not let that fear stop him; he took a sip out of the flask he kept in his pocket, fortification against the scariness that awaited them.

The pool, if it chose to accept Thor, would use his life's essence as the needed sacrifice. Though the god had lived long and well, the beings he would have to trade with could not be content with a small offering. If they wished, they could take the lot and be done with it. Which was why he needed Selvig in the first place; he trusted the man to come with him, to ask the right questions, and if everything went wrong, he could be the one to forward what was learned onto the others. Knowing this, Erik felt the pit of of his stomach twist, and his fingers shook a little as he lit candles, placing them along the floor. This was out of his depth, something he often felt when Thor came into the picture. Certainly, the stories of the gods of old were the stuff of his childhood, but to have what he'd thought was nonsense in his adult days confirmed as true (more or less; human interpretation skewed much of it, the god had told him once) was still jarring, even now. He knew the legends of the pool, knew that men who went in seldom came out, but he still had no earthly idea of what was going on.

Thor shed his shirt, taking a deep breath as he waded into the shallows. Careful steps brought him to the center of the pool, the water waist high and shimmering in the low candlelight. Poised, he waited there, Erik's flashlight shifting in his hand as he pointed it at the god. Watching closely, Thor dipped his entire body into the water, resurfacing quickly, his back stiffening and his eyes widening. A pale bolt skimmed his sides, his arms, lightning coming from his fingertips and electrifying the water. He writhed and groaned, and Erik felt his heart leap into his throat. If he had to, he would brave the waters himself, pull Thor out, but just as he shucked his jacket and prepared to go into the pool, a screech made him jerk back.

"Fool," a voice crowed from the god's mouth, not his own. It was split into several tones, as though more had chosen to speak through him. All of them were too high-pitched, too...feminine. The eyes that turned to look at the doctor were clouded, white film masking the blue irises and haunting him. Fumbling with his flashlight, Selvig crouched at the pool's edge, holding it out. "All of you, fools."

It spoke in a tongue that was unfamiliar to the astrophysicist, spitting at him foully. Summoning his courage, the older man did not turn away. He had been tasked to remain on watch, to retrieve the god from the pool if things went awry.

Inside the god's mind, he was in the pool with the creature, female in form. Her skin was gray as the mists in the morning, her eyes black as night. Robes were twisted about her body, and behind her stood two others, identical in appearance but different in expression. Each one had laid their palms upon her shoulders, connecting to one another fluidly as she reached for him. She sat upon a rock at the edge of the water, her hand tangled into the long strands of his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. The Norns, the women of old, creatures of Jotun who were the holders of past, present, and what could be. The weavers of destiny.

"Odinson," they spoke in unison, a wrenching pain searing him. "You have come to us in need, and in fear. Not for yourself, but for others. What do you wish?"

Wincing and groaning at the grip on his head, Thor forced himself to still, forced himself to look upon the Three with humility.

"The truth. I wish to see the truth of my dream, and what it means." Attempting to bow his head, he let his eyes fall upon the seated Norn's feet, trailing through the water lazily. "I offer my years of life to you for your aid."

A pregnant pause followed his words, but he did not look upon them again. Beats of silence passed in which he could only hear the thumping of his heart in his ear, the breath leaving and returning to his body. As one, they exhaled, the pressure upon his head decreasing for a moment.

"...We accept," they murmured to him, and before he had time to say another word, whether it would be in gratitude or not, the Norn on the rock gripped his skull in both hands, lightning coursing between them and the water. A heady cry tore from his lips, the water splashing as he jerked around, the intensity overwhelming him.

The flashes of the golden hall returned, the carvings of the All-Father and the figure of Heimdall standing before him. The fire of the torches shining upon the dancers, the twining hands of revelers at a banquet he did not belong at. Heimdall approached again, palms laid about his shoulders and shaking him. He was commanded to wake up, to open his eyes and to see what would be wrought. Bolts of electricity shot up, thunder rolling as his vision blurred and focused. The passing images revealed to him made him gasp. Stones, gems broken from scepters, rocks, torn from red mists and from the Tesseract flew by, impact upon the world shattering as the mechanical voice promising extinction came back. His friends' faces flew by, Stark's smirk turning into Captain Rogers' smile, Barton and Natasha passing a friendly look as the doctor looked on. Jane looked on him, the promise of her eyes fading with each passing second as the Norns' shouts could be heard in the growing blackness.

"The six...the infinite six...he holds the Mind Stone," they chanted, keeping him awake as he felt the weakness flooding his form. "Within it lies the power to destroy one of the Nine. Know your task, Odinson, and heed the warning."

Suddenly he was submerged, the pressure upon him relieved as he struggled to kick to the surface. Fingers wrapped around his wrist, hauling him up slowly. Breaking up, he gasped, groping the water's edge and allowing Selvig to help him out of the pool. Sitting at the water's edge, swiping the long strands of blond hair out of his face, he felt rained. Years of his life were taken from him, but not all. It was not yet his time to depart from the universe, and the Norns knew that. They had taken their pay, and left him with his duty. A duty he would see come right.

 **xXxXxXx**

Though perhaps the world wasn't truly brighter after she'd talked with Steve, Holly at least felt better for it happening. Even if he didn't expound on the hellish nightmare that the female twin had forced him to endure, she got the gist of him seeing something unspeakable. It made her ill, seeing that flash of fear in his eyes as he mentally recounted it, no word of it escaping his lips. She didn't push him on revealing it, feeling that if she forced it, he would never tell her, and so she let it be. Instead, they changed the subject and spoke about what happened on her end. She summed up her job loss as succinctly as possible, minimizing her issues as much as possible (because, to her mind, the grand scheme of things weren't affected by it), but Steve did express outrage on her behalf, and she was comforted to know that he still had her back an supported her even in something like that. They also went over the other events in South Africa, the suffering the team was going through at the moment. She told him about the public backlash; while people were definitely upset over the events, and Doctor Banner's future was hanging in the balance, opinion was that there had to be an important reason for it all, and further speculation about a new terrorist threat or another alien invasion cropped up as a result. More and more were popping up every hour, and she had been deputized by Maria to monitor it, as long as she wished to stomach the task.

The sadistic automaton knew what he was on about. The trouble was, what exactly was his aim wasn't evident. Making off with vibranium was a big part of the plan, but for what purpose? To that, Steve had no answers, and Holly certainly had no earthly idea, either. And the possibilities scared her; Ultron was promising destruction, on a global scale. The form it would take was still up in the air, and it frightened her to think about it, frightened her to know that the person she loved most was willingly meeting him headlong.

Pressing the heels of her hands over her eyes, she exhaled sharply. After taking a much needed break (and catching up on her sleep that afternoon), she was back at it with Maria. They were situated in one of the public offices upstairs, a long table running down the center of the room, their separate work divided on either side. Keeping an eye on the circling hashtags, posts, news reports, and the like, Holy had taken to printing them off for filing at a later date. The sun was setting, the glow of low light dancing along the glass walls. A chirping noise on Maria's tablet pierced the air, and without thinking she swiped it open. As a familiar voice called out and a dark face filled the screen, Holly's head jerked up in recognition. Furrowing her brow at her companion's reaction, Maria was cut off from explaining or leaving the room by the caller.

"Hill, it's Fury."

"Sir..." she hesitated, watching color flood into Holly's face and scooting her chair back. "I'm not alone here."

Holly sprang up, moving around the table into frame to stare at the older man. Eye patch, stern expression, and looking like a walking advertisement for Black Coats, Limited? Yep, it was the ex-director of SHIELD, all right. She hadn't seen or heard from the fellow since January, since he arranged a meeting with her to show her the lay of the land, from his side. Staring down at him, at his unamused look, she could see that this was not part of the plan. Gaping openly, she shuffled on her feet, not sure whether to leave the room or stay. A sharp snort pulled her train of thought up short.

"Holly Martin." Nick Fury shook his head, leaning back into what appeared to be an airplane seat. Not much else could be seen from their vantage point, but it could be assumed he was at least on a private charter; there was no way he would do public transport nowadays, not with being officially declared dead. Sizing her up, he tipped a hand at her. "You should've called. I did give you that phone number for a reason."

Confused for a moment, the younger woman felt the blood drain from her face when she remembered. Months ago, when he'd unwittingly predicted things getting tough, he'd given Holly a telephone number, the starkness of the card it was etched into striking her mind. It was programmed into her phone the same day, but when it came down to it, she had not thought to use it. Reflexively, her palm felt over her jeans pocket, even though her phone was at the other end of the table.

Taking advantage of her silence, he simply indicated for her to go about her business as usual. To Hill, he began to hash out plans. The team would be leaving shortly, their heads cleared enough to finally go after the demented automaton. Walking as lightly as she dared, Holly eavesdropped, but from the way Maria was half-glaring at her over the tablet's edge, she knew she wasn't getting away with anything. Still, she was not shooed away, like she would have in another situation, most likely. It turned out that Thor was still missing, Stark was headed to the Nexus in Oslo (Holly made a mental note to look that up just to know what that meant) and the others would be heading out to track down their lead. Unfortunately, it seemed that Helen Cho had not been heard from in some time, from anybody, and given her brilliance, it would seem that the robot had designs upon her. Something about the need to evolve...Holly wasn't quite sure about it all, but she knew that both of the ex-spies were tempering their language in front of her. Groaning inwardly, she decided to pick up a few more pages from the printer, passing behind Maria just as Fury chose to speak again.

"With any luck, they'll stop it before everything gets too out of control."

At that, Holly frowned, an act over which she had no control. Something about the way the pronouncement came out made her curious, and so she began to think hard about Fury's words. Unfortunately, said man spotted the downturn, raised an eyebrow at it.

"Do you have something to say, Miss Martin?"

Caught out, pink tinged her cheeks as she stumbled to speak. "Just...what comes after?"

Most of the missions the Avengers had gone on were outside the realm of the civilian population. With the exception of the D.C. raid last October, their targets had been either in deserted areas or far away from cities. She was wondering how, with the circumstances being so altered, they would all handle the aftermath of the last three days. And to that, Nick simply stared at her, his face betraying nothing.

"After comes after."

"What? You have no contingency plans for this?" she gasped, brow furrowing. These individuals, these agents...weren't they supposed to have an outline for every outcome? This was her first real glimpse into the behind-the-scenes work for the Avengers, and they had nothing to go on. It seemed implausible. "For the people who have been affected?"

The sardonic look Fury shot her spoke volumes, though he did voice his concerns as well. "Currently, we're a bit more worried about whether we'll all actually survive this. If we do, then we do what we can, and attempt relocation as needed."

Maybe it was the lack of adequate sleep that drove Holly on, or maybe it was a concussive after-effect of the collision with the coffee table. Maybe it was the high level of stress leaking its way into her life, touching her in a way that could not be ignored, or maybe it was the fact that she was too prone to opening her mouth at the wrong moments. Most likely, it was a combination of all of those things. And perhaps it was compiled by the urging in the back of her head, the little voice telling her what a load of crap that idea was. In any case, she could not keep herself silent, as Fury's words dug under her skin.

"That's not enough. Homes and businesses have already been lost, without a word being said on the issue. And if Ultron is brought down, all you can do for the potentially affected is catch 'em and dump 'em when the job's done?" She scoffed out loud, crossing her arms over her chest. "That's kinda bullshit."

The ex-director let a notable pause hover between them, the outward manifestation of his displeasure at her exclamation. That, and the magnificent stink eye he was able to give her. "Miss Martin..."

Immediately her hands flew up, her brain catching up with her words in that moment and screaming at her for being far too blunt with him. She'd had every intention of showing respect when he came on the line, but she couldn't help herself from spewing forth the honesty of her mind. She wouldn't backtrack, but she could change her tone to something a little less hostile.

"Look, I'm not claiming to be a genius or a tactician or whatever. I'm just an average Joe here. I mean, look at me, for God's sake," she said as calmly as possible, flicking a few fingers towards her person. The eyes to her left and on the screen examined her critically, basically affirming her statement without saying anything. Taking that into account, she drew in another deep breath, taking a chance. "Just hear me out on this: ignorance and denial only goes so far. There needs to be a plan for afterward, no matter which way the endgame goes. The team is still very popular, yes, but that can't last forever, not when they aren't reaching out after battles to do damage control. The tag 'em, bag 'em, and run routine? It's pissing people off; I get told this daily. Well, I would be still if I hadn't super-blocked my social media, but before that happened...holy balls."

Memories flooded back, things and slurs cast at her over the last few months, just for being associated with one member of the Avengers. As she's said, for the most part, the team was still looked upon with favor, but not everyone felt that way about them, and they would tell the person with the easiest accessibility their grievances. Granted, it was mostly people who had clearly not been involved directly in any of the major events involving the Avengers, but they did like to share their opinions regardless. And while Holly did support the team wholeheartedly, she could not deny that there were foundations for some of the anger out there. It bothered her deeply, another worry to add to the growing list in her mind. Perhaps that could change now.

Maria cast a curious glance at her as she grabbed the chair beside her, sitting down and further ingratiating herself into the conversation. "On your social media, huh?"

Holly's deadpan glance back was not missed, nor was her snort of derision.

"And in the grocery store check-out line, walking to the mail box..." she trailed off, shaking her head and clearing her throat. "Anyway, back to the point. New York recovered alright, but that's because that had literally never happened before."

Maria nodded, conceding the point. "And D.C. did absorb most of the damage due to it being a case of corruption of power."

"But Johannesburg...and future places?" Holly's eyebrows rose, punctuating her words. "It's not going to cut it. There needs to be more from the team than an 'oops, destroyed your city, here's a Band-Aid and an apology.'"

Fury inclined his head, letting out a slow sigh. "That's why the Stark Relief Foundation exists. And that, Miss Martin—"

"It's not enough," Holly repeated, warming to her theme now that she knew she wouldn't be entirely disregarded. At least, not to her face. "The team needs to be part of the rebuilding process, show the world they get the consequences of their actions. Even the unpredictable ones. If they actively tried, even a little, it would go a long way, right?"

The older man settled back in his seat, the leather creaking as he did so. "That's true. But we personally don't have the manpower or the materials to do more than what we can."

To her left, Maria held up a thumb and forefinger, rubbing them together in the universal sign for money. She grimaced at that, unable to deny the world-altering power of the dollar. However, she breathed hard through her nose and looked back at Fury, the steadiness of his features belying the glint in his eyes.

"You know people who do, though," she murmured softly. It was mostly a guess, but she figured as prominent a figure as he'd been over the last twenty years—more likely thirty—he'd have made connections with all sorts of people. People who could help. The corner of his eye twitched, and he exhaled again.

"I do, which is why..."

This was the opportunity, an opportunity that she couldn't let slip by, one that could do some real good in the real world. Something that would help, a tangible sign that this giant universe she was part of could be touched, even by her words. Holly had no desire to be an agent, an Avenger, or anything, but she didn't want to just sit by and let things spiral out of control if she could do something about it. She couldn't control her life at the moment, but maybe she could prevent someone else from losing that control, in the smallest way. Even if all she could do was speak, then she would speak.

"You should start using those connections, the others outside of Stark Industries. Investing in the world's foremost tactical team outside of any army, gaining a foothold in foreign countries that would be beholden to them after the relief efforts went down...they'd be helping rebuild economies." The pleading in her voice was apparent, and perhaps it made her sound desperate to their ears, but she kept going on, nearly blabbering as she rambled. "I know lives won't be the deciding factor, but you get in a good legal team, too, because Tony has to know a few, and if they have the chance to turn it into a viable venture—"

"We have considered this, Miss Martin. Extensively," Fury spoke over her, halting her diatribe and finally getting a word in edgewise. "Which is why Hill has been compiling a list of nonprofits and government support from around the globe since she started working for Stark. Off the books."

The revelation hit her with the intensity of being struck with a sack of potatoes, and her jaw dropped. Later on, she would admit that it made sense; Maria was the team liaison, and had a personal stake and interest in the Avengers' well-being. But given the magnitude of how much she was managing behind their backs in that pursuit, it was still stunning to learn about.

For her part, Maria just smirked and rolled her eyes. "What, you thought I was just around to fetch coffee and put up with Stark's ridiculousness?"

Finding her tongue (and feeling utterly absurd about putting so much of herself on the line when it wasn't actually needed) Holly meekly shook her head. "...Oh. No, no, of course not."

The ex-director of SHIELD shrugged one shoulder to that, and sat forward again. "But it hasn't been a main focus."

"It should be. It needs to be, for all our sakes," the younger woman told him quietly, fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt beneath the table's edge. "One wrong move, and it could all be over. You piss off the right people, then it opens up a newer, bigger fight. And frankly, they can't afford to be fighting with the world."

That was a little too true for comfort, and it showed on all their faces as they considered the notion.

"We're aware," Fury intoned, stating the obvious. "With the shift in gears, though, this is the perfect opportunity for some strings to get pulled."

"It'll also help that you're reversing your declaration of death, sir," Maria pointed out, another surprise dropped on the single civilian in the room. Watching her out the corner of her eye, the assistant went on, "Seriously, a word from a live Nick Fury goes a long way."

Holly swallowed, a dry snicker flying out. "I bet."

"However, the people we reach out to are going to expect something in return."

The hard line in Holly's forehead sprang up as she thought about his words. "Like what, advertisement?"

"Power and control, Miss Martin, over the world's leading specialist group," he retorted flatly. "Most companies want more power and control over entities than anything else, and you're wanting to put the team at their mercy."

A hot flush spread over her face; she didn't want that at all.

"Stark already technically owns them as it is; they're going to have to cooperate with him and the others if they want any stake in this, right? Even if it means they don't hold rights over the group themselves."

"Not everybody jumps on charity. And not everybody will be willing to put up with it."

"Maybe not, but it makes them look like a bag of...garbage," she replied, replacing her chosen phrase with something less graphic. "Not exactly good for PR, no matter how you slice it. And there's no way to avoid that other stuff? No way to not surrender to the whims of a company?" Not for nothing, but she knew why the team retained autonomous control over themselves, why they were privately funded and operated. On Steve's part, at least, she understood his lack of trust outside his team and his friends, and her. It was, as Maria mentioned, a corruption of power that led to SHIELD's demise, and if another agency tried to get its claws into the Avengers to dictate their actions, without the best of intentions, it would rankle. At worst, it would destroy the team, if not the world itself. Her gut twisted as she thought about it. "What about being granted something overarching like...a form of diplomatic immunity, but like as a...not an army, but a world-sanctioned police force? Something's gotta work."

It was most likely an incredibly naïve idea, but it might be doable, in her eyes. Holly would be the first to admit that she had a very low understanding of politics and law, but those very things were altered day in and day out. With the appearances of enhanced beings, it could change again. And could it not be changed to their benefit, instead of the benefit of others? If the team gave, the world should be able to give back, in theory. That was her reasoning. If they showed trust in the people, the people should be able to trust them in turn.

"The world has changed, and...everything can't remain the same as it was," she nearly whispered, gaze focusing on a point on the far wall. Truer words, she thought to herself. One day, she was an assistant manager at a bookstore, the next she was talking policy and planning with a master spy and colonel, with the intention of backing up what was essentially a team of superheroes. Life was complicated enough when she was merely dating one of them; actively participating in that world in this way was...mind-blowing.

In all honesty, she was thinking she preferred the days when Clint threw her down onto the mat and laughed at the angle she'd landed, and then afterward Steve would hand her an ice pack and a glass of wine while she bitched about it. All in good humor, of course.

Maria took a long, hard look at her, before allowing her blank face to crack into a partial smirk. Turning to the screen, she asked lightly, "Yes, sir, what about it?"

Curiously, the other woman's attention latched back onto her, hearing the lead in the tone, but not quite sure what it was leading to. For his part, Fury merely lifted a corner of his mouth, but did not give anything else away.

"We'll need to do one better..." he responded, the wheels turning in his mind. Under his breath, he muttered, "Hmm..."

Focusing on the other girl, the one who in other circumstances would have no right to meddle in the business of heroes, he nodded once more. The kid had guts, and HYDRA had been right to think her a person worth targeting on those blades all those months ago.

"Alright, Martin. Ball's rolling, but we'll start picking up momentum. If you'll do your part." Off her surprised expression, he lifted his chin. "I hope you didn't think you'd be getting out of this yourself."

The well of relief sprang up deep in her soul and right away she bobbed her head in agreement with his words. "No. I can make a couple calls myself."

Skeptical looks darted over her, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"What? I know some people, too. You don't have to be a secret agent to make connections."

"Get crackin', then," he commanded, softening it with his placid look. A significant glance shot to Maria, his eyebrow rising minutely. "Hill?"

She dipped her chin, acknowledging the unspoken that passed between them. "Yes, sir."

The screen went dark, leaving both the women to set about their tasks. Holly jumped up from her seat, going over to the sitting area claimed as her workspace, fetching her phone and starting to filter through her contacts. As Maria marched over to her desk, furtive looks kept flying to the younger brunette, her pallid face set determinedly, her fingers idly running over the row of stitches up to her hair as she contemplated something. Catching Hill's gaze after a second or two, she blinked.

"What?" she asked. Maria lifted a hand to the air, as if to brush at the question.

"You've really given this matter a lot of thought." A surprising amount, if Maria's tone was anything to go by. Holly canted her head, gesturing with her phone.

"I'm effectively living on both sides. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize changes do need to happen. Plus, when your SO is off busting heads and leaving you on your own more days out of the week than most, you do have time to consider how he and his team does things."

As she turned her attention back to the device in her fingers, she could still feel Maria's bright eyes watching her. Not knowing what to expect, she waited, breathing carefully as the other woman examined her.

"You know, what you're doing could potentially keep Steve in this line of work until..." the assistant said softly. There it was, the harsh reality: a quiet future surrendered to the will and evil of the world, if Holly went through with it and helped. But it wasn't as if it was an option to spare her the truth; Hill knew she needed to hear it, to know it in her heart. It made the other woman flinch, refuse to meet her sight. There was a layer of fear surfacing below, but aside from biting her lip, she did not verbalize it in any way. Lifting a shoulder, Maria looked back down at the surface of her desk. "Provided we pull this off, of course."

A shaky breath, followed by another, and Holly looked back up at her again. There were no tears to be shed this time, but the grim expression found there was compelling. Maybe not grim but...a form of acceptance, maybe? In truth, Holly wasn't sure herself what she was feeling about it all, but she did have an answer.

"Yes, I do know," she said, setting her shoulders and sniffing once. "It's what needs to be done."

"Uh-huh." Letting the statement slide, Hill struggled to find something to lift the stifling air in the room. Moving to unlatch a window along the far wall and let in a breeze, she let her lips pull up in a smarmy grin. "You do also know that your contacts are the same ones I have?"

A low, strangled groan was the younger woman's witty retort. Rolling her eyes, Holly was stopped by the notification playing on her cellphone. Looking down, she could see a text had come in, the display number overridden so it wouldn't show. A part of her was suspicious, but when she opened the message, she felt her gut clench with a different emotion.

 **BACK ON MISSION. STAY SAFE. LOVE YOU.**

Another breath escaped her lips, face creasing as she cleared throat once more. Swiping the illicit message away, she brought back up her contact screen, ready to make her first call. She just prayed that Jane Foster wasn't dead asleep on her end, wherever she was.

"Let me have this one thing, okay, Hill?" she requested woodenly, tacking a stipulation on as a chuckle reached her ear. "And don't tell Fury. Or...anyone else."

"Alright, Martin."

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, well, well. Look who is uploading before Friday again...

So...we got a lot going on in this chapter. Steve and Holly finally talk again after the craziness over the last day. It's nice for them to start leveling things out.

Finally, I get to a Thor-centric part of a chapter. Honestly, he's the character I feel the least equipped to write, simply because he is Thor. He's literally the stuff of legends, and frankly, my poor little human brain doesn't feel like it can do him justice. The scene in the caves is a culmination of the film and the deleted scene stuff brought forth, with my own little twist on it. I just hope it came across alright.

And yes, Holly is stepping up majorly to the plate in regards to helping out the team. At this point in her life, she's already so deeply involved that it doesn't make sense to keep her out of it all. Granted, in this version Maria and Fury have mostly beaten her to the punch, but she wants things to go well for the team, even if it means that Steve might be involved for the rest of his life. HOWEVER. She is not an agent, she is not a member of the Avengers, she is not affiliated in that way. She's just expressing herself in the way she thinks is right.

Also, with the plans being laid down as they are, the future of these people are going to be greatly affected. As in, one path being diverted to another. As has been mentioned many times, things are changing and changing again, for everybody, in many ways. At this point, it can be said that the story is truly switching gears into an AU. I mean, it basically became that way when I introduced an OC way back in the first story, but now I'm altering it a little further (it will be more evident the closer we get to the end of this story). Some of you may not be on board with that decision, and that's fair, but that's how it is. I just hope you enjoy the writing anyway.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references/references to _Star Wars._

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	22. Chapter 22

The ringtone blared across the table, and Holly practically dove to pick it up. It had been roughly forty-five minutes since she'd made her first call, and as night had blanketed the world once again, she was nervous that she would have to wait until dawn before anything was heard. She'd flung the phone away in a moment of frustration—with it, with herself—and now she was paying for that action. Swiping the display to accept the call, she was just relieved Maria was out of the room at the time and was not a witness to her slide.

"Jane," she exhaled into the phone, gracelessly wiggling to sit on the tabletop.

A light chuckle echoed through the speaker in her ear. "Holly Martin. Hi! I just got your message. I have to say, I wasn't expecting a call from you."

True enough; though the women had exchanged numbers some time ago, they didn't exactly keep in touch. Not that they didn't get along or anything, but they just weren't close enough to do so on a regular basis. On occasion, they'd send texts back and forth, but that was the extent of it. Holly nodded at the point.

"Yeah. I didn't wake you or anything, did I?" she asked, her tone apologetic. It was about six hours ahead, Greenwich-time, but she had no actually idea where Jane was.

"Well, not really. My flight back to London was delayed; I napped in the airport, caught up on my sleep that way," the other woman responded, brushing off the unspoken apology. "What's up? You didn't say much in the message, but it sounded important."

The younger woman drew in a deep breath, swallowed. "It...it kinda is, at least I think so. Listen, I need your help. The team needs your help, actually."

The shift in Jane's gears almost could be heard, her voice conveying seriousness. "What's going on?"

It was short question that required a long answer. To the best of her ability, Holly attempted to summarize the last three days, yet again (at that point, she was sure that if she were ever interviewed about it, she would have a succinct explanation down pat). When she spoke of Ultron's theft of Loki's scepter and the subsequent tracking of the creature to Africa, the astrophysicist expressed muted outrage, and even more came out when she realized it all happened due to experiments at the hands of the leading scientists of the team. But the point of the call, Holly iterated, was not just to give her an update. Rather, she was asking Jane to employ her connections at both the universities where she held sway. With her support, the colleges could supply manpower for relief efforts and funding for the future, ensuring the Avengers' foothold in the world and grounding it, thereby reducing the distance between them and the public in the process. They would need aid, all of them, and though the Avengers could supply some, they needed to be more involved. They could only do that if they in turn had some help.

A shocked silence followed as the other woman digested the proposal. On her end, Holly crossed her fingers, praying to high heaven that the idea would not be rejected outright. Soon enough, Jane found her tongue again.

"Holly, what you're asking for takes a lot of time and sway, and I'm not sure I have that." A short breath ghosted across the line, and Holly could picture Jane shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "I'm just an astrophysicist."

"Well..." Holly struggled for a moment, lighting on an answer to that quickly, "tell the universities it's an investment opportunity. Think of the possibilities it will open up for the students."

"Such as?"

"Internships at a funded base of operations. Part-time work in the same place. Missions trips around the world in partnership with other nonprofits." Holly ticked the points off on her free hand as she went. "All for the benefit of the world around them. They'll be given chances to actively make a difference, learn new skills..."

Jane snorted mildly. "No offense, Holly, but schools really look at the bottom line more than anything."

The younger brunette harrumphed under her breath. Damn money...

"Like I said, investment opportunity," she interjected over her bitter thoughts. "What school wouldn't want to be in partnership with the Avengers? To say the Avengers supports them in return? And who wouldn't want to give money to such a school? It'd be no different than if they'd agreed to help out with army recruitment or something. As one of the world's foremost women in your field, I think they'd accept your endorsement as a bridge. That could help fast-track the process, right?"

A quiet whistled followed the statement, and some amusement entered the other woman's tone. "Wow, and I thought I was blunt to the point of painful."

Closing her eyes, Holly was beginning to wonder if making these calls was such a good idea.

"C'mon, Jane. This could make or break them, for the future," she repeated carefully. And it really did hang in the balance; they had to give back, they had to get some help, or they would lose everything. They could lose each other...and the thought made her stomach turn. Softly, she continued, "For Thor's sake, if not for the team's or mine?"

More silence, more ticks of the clock passing by, and nothing was said.

Jane sighed audibly. "...I'll make some calls, and get back to you as soon as I can."

After the initial shock passed, Holly was about ready to jump to her feet and dance in celebration. Instead, she exhaled in relief, blinking up at the ceiling and swinging her legs off the table.

"Thank you, thank you."

"I can't promise anything," the astrophysicist interrupted hastily. Building false hope would do them no good, and there were no guarantees that the premise would be accepted by her colleagues. Still, it would be worth it to make the attempt. "And, they're going to want to see some paperwork, or a charter, or something. But I will definitely try."

"I appreciate it, either way," Holly enthused, grateful for the promise in any regard. Rounding the table, she grabbed up some of the paperwork that Maria had been working on, stuff that companies and such would need to see to legitimize the venture. If she was willing to try, then she was pleased to have gotten that far. "Thanks, Jane."

"Don't worry about it," Jane chuckled once more, the call ending shortly after. Some of the weight that had descended onto Holly's shoulders was lifted. Not much progress, but she was doing what she could, what was needed. Scrubbing hard at her face, she brought the phone up again, her resoluteness rising as she swiped back to the other number she'd been trying to reach. Pressing the green button, she waited as the dial tone went through, a click and shift on the other end making her heart thump in anticipation.

"...Hey, Pepper?"

In London, Jane stared down at the illuminated phone in her hand, the screen deactivating after several long seconds. What Holly was asking would definitely take time, but she supposed the merit in the idea would help them all out in the long run. And to be honest, as humble as Jane was, she was a little intrigued at the idea of throwing her weight around. It would show who was actually willing to partner with her in her endeavors, and not just kiss up to her for notoriety's sake. Unfortunately, it was far too late (or early, she supposed; it was about three in the morning, last time she checked) to be starting right away. It could afford to wait a few hours. Meanwhile, she had other things to attend to.

Inhaling sharply, she cast a glance over her shoulder, back through the open doorway of her bedroom. The darkness was touched by the light of the hallway she stood in, slanting across the bed. When she'd arrived home, she'd been happily surprised to find the large frame of a certain blond god stretched across it, quilts tangled around his body as he rolled onto his back. Thor had sent her no message of his arrival, or even of his being in town; in fact, she'd heard nothing from him in a few days, not since he alerted her that he was on the move again, off to another battle. She'd wanted to wake him, to greet him properly, but the look on his face in rest had stopped her. It seemed that there were equal parts pain and worry cutting into his features as he dreamed, the lack of peacefulness jarring her. She'd known he'd been having a rough time with his personal tracking (and losing) of Loki's scepter, but she had no idea to what extent the trouble ran. After the news report from Johannesburg, and now from Holly's own lips, she had a better idea. And she was determined that he would not get away with keeping her in the dark. Not again.

Padding silently back into the room, she dropped her phone on the nightstand, bending over to switch on the lamp. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she leaned over the prone form of the god, intending only to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before getting down to business. However, the loving gesture roused him, made his fingers slide into the cascade of brown hair falling over her shoulder and press his lips fully to hers. Weary blue eyes blinked when she drew away, though the tenderness he felt for her shined through. Jane was a sight he would never tire of waking to.

"Jane," he breathed, her name a caress, a balm to the breaks in his soul. She nodded, her fingers toying with the neck of his borrowed t-shirt (a new one, she noted, not one of the few he had left in her drawers). The lines on her brow became more pronounced as her brown gaze remained on him, steady and concentrated.

"Thor." She cupped his face, drawing him forward and bringing him to sit upright as she gave him another searing kiss. Strong arms enveloped her, stirring the longing deep within that she'd been pressing back while he was away. However, she would not give him the opportunity to get lost in it; she wanted answers, and she would have them. Alas, it did not last long enough for him, but her tone when she spoke again would not allow him to indulge in another distraction. "We have a lot to talk about."

Peering into her face, he saw that she had retreated far from her affectionate state. The look on her face, the one that had all the elements of courage, determination, and curiosity, was one he'd seen many times. In that moment, something more underlined the emotions, and he saw it rise up the longer they stared at one another. She knew, knew things were amiss, and she would not let them lie. Nor would she let him go on without telling his part. Much as he would rather not tell her, for her protection, he could not choose that course any longer.

Sighing briefly, he dipped his chin, his grip around her tightening as he prepared himself. "Indeed, we do."

 **xXxXxXx**

Nudging at her shoulder, a sharp shake, brought Holly out of her doze. On and off over the last day, she'd found herself sleeping at random moments, her patterns broken entirely and her dreams nothing short of unsettling. She did not sleep long or well, but it was enough for her to function, for the most part. However, she'd been fairly peaceful for the last round (despite being crooked over the table, face pillowed by the printed sheets of paper she'd been pouring over), and was not entirely overjoyed to have been woken. Swiping a hand at her mouth, she blinked at Maria, an expression just short of a scowl on her lips.

And then she blinked again, befuddlement overtaking her as she glanced over her companion's body. Rather than her normal office wear, the assistant was decked out in navy jumpsuit, a pocketed belt around her hips and guns holstered at her waist. Heavy black boots were laced onto her feet, and her face was devoid of even the lightest makeup. The ever-present bluetooth receiver was still tucked into her ear, and her hair was up in its utilitarian style, but that was all that was the same about her appearance. In truth, the outfit seemed more correct for her than the business dresses and heels she sported nearly around the clock since the younger woman had known her. Her posture was erect, but somehow it seemed relaxed as well. Holly reckoned, belatedly, that this must have been her standard gear for SHIELD, back in the day. But why wear it now?

"Come on, get up," Maria cut through her thoughts, gently tugging on her arm until she forced herself out of her seat. Doing as she was prompted, Holly rubbed at her eyes, yawning wide and falling in step as Hill moved away.

"What's going on?" she wondered, but no answer was forthcoming. Instead, Maria led the way out of the office, treading swiftly towards the upper deck of the Tower via the stairs as opposed to the elevator. Given that it was only a few floors away, it did not present much of problem, but it still was a curious choice. Exiting the stairwell, the heavy door clanging behind them, Holly could hear the low murmur of voices in the open sitting area, male voices. A part of her could not stop the swell of hope as it beat in her heart, could not stop the thought that perhaps the team had performed a miracle and gotten back to Manhattan in mere hours. The fire was doused as soon as came up on Maria's left, seeing the two men who were there. Due to extensive efforts between the two women and a temporary cleaning crew, the shards of metal and glass had been disposed of, allowing the men present to sit down in comfort again. They both rose to their feet at the females' approach, and Holly felt her body sag in disappointment.

She chided herself for it; after all, she knew that it was highly unlikely that the team could be back that quickly, just as she knew that there were plans for Nick Fury to turn up. And so she managed to greet him well enough, the older man much more imposing in person, as ever. Having found a fount of courage earlier on, she had straightened her spine and met his gaze. Nodding over to his companion, she felt her gut constrict briefly before forcing a grin onto her lips.

"Dr. Banner." Images of the news reports flashed through her mind, footage of the Hulk growling and breaking, smashing and beating everything in his path resurfacing then. It must have shown in her eyes, the suppressed revulsion, as the doctor visibly flinched when she looked at him. Immediately, she felt awful for doing so. She knew the guy, not well, but she knew how different he was from his greater form and how much he abhorred it. He seemed to shrink in on himself, though he still met her gaze.

"Hi," he muttered, sinking back down into his seat when no more was said. Fury darted a look at both of them, but seemed to inwardly resign himself to something, holding out his hand to for Banner to shake before turning back to Maria.

"Ready to go?" he asked. Holly physically jerked back at the inference, and gaped at Maria's answering nod.

"Wait, what, you're leaving?" she crowed, her nerves jangled. She couldn't recall the assistant ever mentioning that she would be going away, abandoning her post. Where could she and the ex-director of SHIELD be headed that was more important than staying behind for? Helping out the other woman had kept her grounded, solid, and now that rug was being torn out from under her feet.

"Some parts of our joint venture have to happen elsewhere," Fury intoned carefully, conscious of Banner's inquisitive glance. Holly nodded in understanding, though it was quite obvious that she didn't fully get what they would be doing. Frankly, Nick preferred it that way. "We've got a few things to pick up. You both can hold the fort down until the rest of the team comes back, right?"

The request sounded flippant when it came out of his mouth, but the grim lines in his face told her how deadly serious the older man was. Her stomach clenched tighter, the responsibility of it a hard burden to bear. Banner inclined his chin once, but did not speak a word. For her part, Holly took a shaky breath.

"I...suppose so," she replied. Turning to look at Maria, she attempted a slight smirk. "If anybody calls, I can give them your direct line."

The ex-agent wrinkled her nose at that, but her bright eyes glittered in humor. "It'd be better if you just unplugged the phone, in that case."

It may have been a joke, but Holly was giving the idea consideration. Fury nodded once more, adjusting the dark beanie on his head and straightening his black jacket before holding out a palm towards the far elevators.

"Let's get moving," he murmured, giving his compatriot a chance to step ahead. A few of his fingers fluttered in their direction as he began to stride away, a comment thrown over his shoulder as he went. "Good luck. And this time, don't forget the number, Martin."

The reprimand reverberated deep within her, and Holly flushed as she mumbled, "I won't, trust me."

As the retreating pair disappeared into the elevator, the remaining two were frozen in the awkward silence that followed. Studiously, they were focusing on different parts of the furniture in the room, both mired in their own thoughts, their own plans. Where did Maria and Fury go to? What else were they planning on the side? They were like jugglers, multiple balls flying through the air, all of them ready to drop at a moment's misstep. The feeling of something more, something deeper that she could not make out, did not sit well with her. Perhaps she'd have to start digging a little deeper on her own time. Eventually, Holly shook herself out of her mire and stepped forward, drawing the doctor's attention.

"You need anything, Doc—Bruce?" she corrected herself, chastising herself for reverting to the formal title. Though she couldn't claim to be great friends with him, she did know him well enough to be on first-name terms by then. Letting herself be cowed by media reports and footage would not bode well for her, and so she tried to move past the kernel of fear that had cropped up.

Bruce shook his head, folding his hands in his lap. "No, thanks."

A corner of her mouth lifted as she plastered on a friendly expression. "Not even some coffee? There's been a pot brewing pretty much all day."

The two dark gazes studied one another as he digested her words. Slowly, carefully, he nodded his acquiescence. "...Sure."

Busying herself with the new-found task, she went around to the bar along the far wall. Though there was no full pot there, she did find a brewer that made the single cups, and so she assembled two of those. Not knowing his preferences, she dashed a little creamer and some sugar, while she essentially made hers half confection, half caffeine drink. It was her chance to get her feelings under control, to remind herself that she was dealing with a normal man at the moment, not a monster. The doctor was not a monster, nor was the Hulk...but he was a force to be reckoned with, and she'd seen enough news reels to prove it over the last day. Soon enough, she had two mugs in hand, passing his off to him as she sat herself on the opposite couch.

The quiet ate at her as she sipped her coffee, staring around the space. Mere days ago, it had been the scene of merriment and comradeship, and in a few short hours it was torn asunder. The world was turned on its head, and would again, she knew that much. It was just shocking to think how quickly it could do so. Peering at her new companion under her eyelashes, she saw how his body curled in on itself even as he sat up, his hands rubbing around the mug as if he were desperate to warm them. Bruce's glasses were hooked at the V of his button-down shirt, and his mouth was set in a harsh line. Clearing her throat, she voiced her concern.

"Are you alright?" The guy had been through hell, all things considered, and with his low opinion of his gamma-enhanced self, tiptoeing around it was making things worse. Steve had told her the physical damage the doctor had inflicted upon himself, and what Stark had to do to draw his brighter half back out. When he winced, she wondered if she'd been too blunt, or if she failed to underscore the importance of her words. "I mean—"

"I'm fine, thank you for asking." Though his words were polite, his tone was clipped, brusque. He must have thought her inquiry to be false or prying, or at the very least that she was asking simply to get it out of the way. The quirk of his jaw, the darkness of his glimpse as he shot a quick look at her, brought her up short. In an average situation, she found Bruce to be warm, when he allowed his aloof exterior to be put aside. However, he was sapped, exhausted with it all, and she kicked herself mentally for not abiding by it sooner. Stumbling in her speech, she inwardly screamed at herself as she tried to make it right.

"I, I didn't mean to..." she trailed off, staring down into her mug of coffee and at the slight tremor in her hands. She'd chalked that up to the caffeine, and not her nerves; she'd had so much in the last twenty-four hours that it almost had no effect on her anymore. Gripping it hard, she looked up at him again, her expression sorrowful as she sighed. "It's been a rough couple of days."

Despite his mood, despite himself, Bruce felt his lips twist wryly at the statement.

"Yeah, it has," he responded, knowing that he was understating quite a bit. Still, it wasn't her fault that it was that way. Observing Holly for a second, he took note of the stitches on her forehead, healing well enough, and the deep shadows beneath her eyes. "How have you been holding up?"

Caught mid-sip, she let the hot brew slide down her throat before answering. Raising a shoulder, she blew air sharply out her nose.

"I'm...not okay, but I'm just taking everything as it comes, I guess," she told him honestly. Canting her head, she let a small, dry grin play across her lips. "Just trying not to lose my mind."

"Understandable," the doctor concurred, matching her expression. "It does tend to get a little crazy around here."

Snorting at that, she said, "In short, incredible bursts, but when it calms down...eh, it's not so bad."

The pensive look returned then, his brow furrowing significantly. "This burst was preventable, though."

Holly wasn't sure how to respond to that, as it was mostly true. All of it, what had happened since the conception of Ultron, could have been prevented, ignored. It could have been pushed aside if only one of the men working on it had said no, put a stop to it. As such, it had happened, and piling blame on top of everything else was not worthwhile.

"Not like you wanted it from the outset," she replied after a minute or two, tapping a finger along the handle of her cup. "It was just an accident."

Bruce choked out a laugh, though it had a decidedly bitter tang to it.

"My work and accidents go hand in hand, more often than not. Should've remembered that."

"Again, it wasn't what you wanted to have happen." The tapping stopped, and she relinquished the cup to let it rest on the coffee table between them. Crossing her arms over her torso, Holly went on, "You guys will figure out how to stop it."

"You believe that." It wasn't a question, but Bruce was curious as to what her answer truly was. Not being very familiar with this girl, he did know that for someone to be as attached as she was to their leader, she had to have a lot of faith in their cause. Or at least in them. But did she really believe, or was she just putting on a front to get by? He wondered, and he looked hard at her, raking a hand through his dark curls. Her hand cupped the air, the other curling hard into side.

"It's either that, or sink into a miserable pit of despair and go utterly mad," she murmured, letting some humor lace her statement. Soon enough, she let herself slide back in solemnity. "But honestly? Yeah, I do."

And she did. If anybody had any chance of stopping the evil that had come from a pursuit of good, it was the Avengers. The ragtag, hastily assembled group from three years ago was being called out again, and they would have to answer it. Amongst them all, they had the will and the knowledge to take down a menace such as Ultron. Even if they were the ones at fault for creating it. The sincerity in her profession struck Bruce deep inside. His jaw worked back and forth for a few seconds, his mug nestling onto the coffee table beside hers. Breathing shallowly, he rose from his seat, a brief nod sent in Holly's direction.

"Thanks for the coffee." That said, he pivoted on his heel, off to his quarters to await the return of Stark, of Natasha. To await his chance to right the wrongs committed, one at a time. Watching him go, Holly picked at the hem of her shirt, at a loss to say or do more.

"You're welcome," she said, voice barely above a whisper. After he'd been gone for several minutes, she took up the coffee cups, shunting them into the sink behind the bar, tying her hair back with the elastic band around her wrist as she swirled water and soap in the dishes. Tipping them over to dry on a borrowed towel, she gave herself a moment to just breathe. It had been hours since she'd let herself sit still, unoccupied with something other than the tumultuous events that had occurred, the scattered nature of her feelings. Rest, it was time to rest, and her body was marching to that command. There would be time enough to continue working later. Walking back to the sitting area, she tumbled heavily onto the sofa, the coffee in her system nothing more than a lead weight in her belly. Curling up on the sofa, her arms acted as her pillow as she focused on the glass walls. The lights of the skyscrapers stood out as the minutes passed, acting as the stars and nightlights as she was lulled back to sleep.

 **xXxXxXx**

There was no peace to be had on the other side of the world, in the unforgiving light of day.

Helen Cho's lab was in shambles by the time Steve and the others had arrived, her assistants and nurses either fled or dead on the scene. The site had appeared abandoned at first, until he spotted the bodies. Scaling the building, he desperately looked for Helen, tapping into the comms and alerting Nat and Clint to keep an eye out for any sign of Ultron or his sentries. On the top floor, in the back laboratory, he finally found her. Her coat and pants were scuffed, blood seeping from a wound that crossed from shoulder to shoulder. The large room was devoid of anything cradle-like, which caused a spike of worry to fly through his system. It had seemed that he had taken the machine, determined to finish the building process with or without the doctor's help now. She must have tried to stop him; it was the only reason for why the automaton would choose to hurt her. Helen was too valuable to kill...for a time.

Helping her sit up, Steve grabbed a clean swatch of bandages from one of the counters, helping her to wrap it around. Gasping in pain, she confessed how the robot was doing what they feared he would: transferring into a new body, a better body. They had gone only minutes before he'd come in, alerted by the incoming quinjet's systems echoing off his internal one.

But the real power wasn't the body itself; there was a gem, a stone that had enough power in it to level the city were it to be disrupted from its new casing. Unfortunately, that took away the option of blowing the whole thing to smithereens after finding it, and Nat and Clint had huffed in exasperation over the line. Wrenching the wrapping from Steve's hands, Cho nodded for him to go, the grim set of her face only broken by the split in her lip as she continued to care for herself.

Dashing up to the roof, they considered options for the next move over the communication line, with Clint spotting a truck from the lab as a possible transport for the Cradle. Scans confirmed that non-human entities were aboard, piloting the vehicle. It gave Steve less than a minute to sprint from roof to highway in order to catch it, but he made it in time to land on the truck just as it passed under a bridge. It was a narrow window of opportunity, distracting Ultron long enough to take away his grasp at control, and he would take it. It would give Barton and Romanoff the chance to actually figure out a way to take care of the Cradle and the robot without being consumed by the fighting.

It was clear that the robot was angry with the new disturbance, and he showed it by blasting repulsors at Steve at every opportunity. Driving him off the back of the truck, onto other cars, Steve felt his back and legs scream in protest whenever he landed; it was a wonder that he hadn't broken anything yet. Above it all, the quinjet hovered, following as close as it could in the urban landscape. Jumping swiftly, his hands grappled with the side mirror of a military truck, allowing him to swing back onto the semi trailer. Barely gaining his footing, he had to turn quickly, a repulsor ricocheting off the shield magnetized to his back.

"I am trying to bring peace and change to the world," Ultron barked, hovering over the roof of the semi and touching down seamlessly. A claw hooked down, anchoring into the metal as Steve charged him. The shield rebounded off the creature, pushing the man back several feet and almost off the truck. Snidely, the piercing red gaze bit into him, his smooth voice scoffing his attempt. "Is that so frightening to you?"

"Your definition of change is very different from everyone's," the captain retorted, slinging his shield at the demented robot. It was true; after all, any change that involved the decimation of a planet could hardly be called good. But Ultron wanted nor cared for the man's opinion, and he certainly did not care for the vibranium shield to be tossed at him over and over again. Snarling, he smacked it away, the defensive weapon lost to Steve. Left with nothing but his muscle and obdurateness, the captain traded blows with the creature, leaping onto his back and crooking his arm around the neck of the robot. Obviously, he would not be able to choke him, but it should buy the others time to come up with other attack plans. Suddenly, Ultron twisted, pulling his arm off to the side and returning the favor. Claws dug into his throat as he was backed up towards the edge of the truck. Panting, his grip scrabbled at the metal arm, looking like a small doll in comparison to the massive robot. Out the corner of his eye, a blur of blue and black sped up alongside them, red and silver bands flying up and reattaching to his arm. Shield returned, he smashed it against the creature's head, freeing himself.

The battle was far from over, as Steve found himself being repeatedly thrown around or from the semi trailer. He vaguely recalled impacting off more cars, dodging them as they were catapulted into the air and flinging himself back on top of the truck once more. Once free of the overpass, shots impacted around him, pinging off the targeted robot. An air of rage surrounded the creature then, his attacks tripling as his sentries moved off to follow Clint's trail. It was all Steve could do to keep up with punch after punch, tossing Ultron as he had been. When he came back for another pass, the captain attempted a turn, throwing Ultron off-kilter...and throwing them both into the side of a passing train.

Bodily landing on top of one another, both opponents rushed to their feet, the limited space of the train and the civilians occupying the car they were in difficult to work with. However, only the human cared about not causing casualties. Forced into a defensive position, he tried to draw Ultron back towards the hole they'd blown into the side. Nat's voice came in strong over the comm-link, telling Clint that the Cradle, codenamed as the package, was about to be sent to him. Given that both the trailer and the quinjet were airborne, the captain could only wonder how the archer would be able to catch the thing without destroying the city below. One strong backhand, though, made him bang down into a bank of seats, head bouncing off the wall and knocking coherent thought clean out for a moment. Vision blurring, Steve tried to shake it clear before the robot could advance again. It seemed a vain hope as the click of metal feet clanged closer, and so he shot up, a series of jabs bouncing off his raised shield before slamming into his side. The wind knocked out of him, he went down again.

Before another stroke could fall, another blur appeared, pushing hard and knocking Ultron askew. The blue and white trails it left in the air faded, reforming into the person of Pietro Maximoff, silver strands fanning away from his focused eyes. Stunned, Steve rolled onto his knees just barriers criss-crossed in front of the male twin, writhing red auras holding them in place and freezing Ultron's advance. Whipping his head around, both the captain and the robot spotted the girl, Wanda, auburn hair flapping in the rapid breeze, her will and strength giving her the courage to stand her ground. Her eyes reflected scarlet as the robot simply gazed upon her.

"Please, you can't do this," he murmured, too proud to truly beg. Stiffening her spine, she glared at him.

"No, _you_ can't," she shot back, the harshness accentuating her accent. Infuriated with the turning of their coats, Ultron raised his hand towards the male Maximoff, deciding to simply take care of the matter anyway. Instinctively, the young man darted out of its path, narrowly avoiding death. The beam shot past him, out the front of the car, piercing all the way to the conductor's panels. Another panel of windows were torn from the car's side, giving Ultron a chance to escape. Lost now, Steve vaulted over the barriers as the younger Maximoff let them drop. Weaving around the frightened civilians still onboard, he tugged on the shoulder of the conductor, the fellow body crumpling to the ground. Effectively unstoppable, Steve's eyes widened as the train sped towards the end of the tracks.

God, he never had any good luck with trains, he mused perversely. A triumphant cry, followed by a yelp in despair, crackled over the comms before another beat of silence.

A disquieted voice echoed over the line soon enough. "Natasha! Ultron's got her! Can you see her, Cap?"

Roughly, Steve shook his head, belatedly remembering that Clint would be unable to see his response in the negative. His first concern at that moment was no longer the Cradle; Barton had to get it to Stark immediately, with or without them. Yelling at him to take the package and go, he resolved to find Natasha once the train was stopped, once the people of Seoul were safe.

 _'If,'_ his brain muttered. _'If the train can be stopped.'_

Finding the Enhanced beings, he instructed the male to remove the civilians in the path of the train. The girl watched her brother dash away, blinking against the strong winds whipping in and out of the car. Boldly, she looked him in the eye, accepting his command to stop the careening transport. Making his way to the front car again, Steve observed the blue and white trail barely several steps ahead of them, watching in awe as the people were shunted out of harm's way. Abruptly, the train rocked under his feet, alerting him to the girl exerting her power over the wheels and locks, grinding the brakes to force it into a halt. Chunks of brick and plaster crumbled upon impact with the train, exploded around him as he blocked the onslaught with his shield, but finally, finally, it ground to a stop. Clouds of dirt and torn-up asphalt misted around them as he panted, trying to catch his breath and calm his beating heart. Too close, he thought, it was all too close.

When he disembarked from the train himself, after assisting several citizens off of the broken vehicle, Steve went in search of his erstwhile allies. The twins had settled across the street, on a set of crates outside a small shop. The brother was heaving, evidently having pushed himself to his limit (he noted that for reference later; the kid actually did have a limit). His sister, tentatively touching his arm, was about to go for help, but he waved her off. He just needed a minute to catch his breath.

"I'm not sure you deserve even that much," Steve remarked, blue eyes icy as he narrowed his gaze on the pair. He had no idea what to make of these two, the witch and the blur. They truly were more than their files made them out to be, and definitely more than what Ultron wanted them to be. Strucker's experiments were more complex than they seemed, but, after all, they were still human. Something had happened to make them understand the robot's ultimate stance regarding the world, that much was clear. Otherwise, they would have let him continue on as before, probably would have helped him instead of the Avengers. He was grateful for the turnaround, but that did not indicate that he actually trusted them.

"Is it safe?" Wanda crooned, stepping into his path and blocking her brother, "Is it gone?"

The captain nodded, inhaling sharply. "Yes. We have it; it's going back to the Tower. It'll be in Stark's hands."

Something akin to disbelief and horror dawned on her face, the color that had returned draining once again. "You cannot do that. It's not safe with..."

The certainty in her tone, as if she truly knew Stark's capabilities, made Steve pause. He had no reason to think Tony would be crazy enough to not stop the cycle he started, but...this girl, she could peer into others' minds, read their souls. Yes, she manipulated others' fears to work against them, but she did not plant them there to begin with. Wringing her hands, she shook her head at his denial, the denial of a friend. If the other man could set right the wrong he committed, then he would do it, regardless of the cost or outcome. It was a hard truth to face, yet another one of many in a matter of days, and Steve wasn't sure he wanted to face it. Tapping the link in his ear, he turned away from the twins, reaching out to his partners. Nobody answered, not Stark, not Barton...nobody. A sinking feeling pooled into his stomach, Wanda's low voice demanding his attention.

"Ultron has no idea that saving the world and destroying it are two different things. Who do you think he got that from?"

The implication burned him, made a thread of anger rise, but the little voice at the back of his mind, the one that was good at sowing doubt and discord, knew she was speaking the truth. It hurt to think his colleague, his friend, might not be the right person to stop the evil that was threatening to descend on the world. He could only hope that, once he got stateside again, that Tony would prove him wrong.

"Come on, we've gotta move," he said abruptly, moving his shield onto the magnetic strips on his back. Two sets of eyes flashed over him, two sets of brows furrowed.

"What?" the male Maximoff said, combing a hand through his silvered locks.

"You really want to do some good? You come with me, and you help us shut that thing down." Steve stood, arms crossing over his chest. It was time to draw a line in the sand, show these kids the lay of the land. He understood their fervor, their hopes to better the lives of their country and themselves. If they truly wanted to achieve that, they had to start by lending a hand where it was needed. They could do more good in destroying the true evil, even if they had to work with people they hated to see it done. For a long moment, the twins stared at him, then one another. No agendas, no ulterior motives; there was no time for petty squabbles. Steve raised an eyebrow, the expression unseen due to his helmet covering it, but he figured the set of his jaw and the tightness of his posture indicated how deadly serious he was. The girl, barely inclining her head, gestured a few of her fingers towards the captain, her brother following suit. Agreement in place, the taller man glanced around, eyes upon the skies. There was no alternate plan of getting out of Seoul; the team had made the assumption that they would be able to leave together. With that idea blown out of the water, he had to figure out an alternative. "First we've got to get a ride out of here."

Taking the cue, Pietro got to his feet, his panting reverting back to normal breaths.

"...We have something," he said, locking gazes with the older man. A private jet across town...no manifest, as Nat had reported some time before the whole mess went down. It was likely the way the twins were able to move with Ultron, the pilot manipulated either by fear or by enticement to do their bidding. Knowing it was his only option of getting back in time to prevent more madness, to protect everything he cared for, he dipped his chin. Going into a light jog, he allowed the twins to clamber ahead of him, leading the way.

"Then let's go."

* * *

 **A/N:**...They're gonna have to move fast if they even hope to catch up before that insanity starts.

Yep, Holly's attempting to enlist Jane and Pepper (note she is calling Pepper, not Stark Industries) in the whole Avengers-protection endeavor. I would think that colleges would love to have a chance at getting their students involved with such a team. Not by sending them on missions, but by doing rotations to help with relief or with internships in certain departments within the organization. That's what she can ask for, while Maria and Nick can go after the bigger stuff on the checklist. And yeah, I've actually had Bruce and Holly sit down for a chat. It occurred to me that they've never really interacted before, and the scene kinda just wrote itself. Bruce isn't intentionally being a jerk to Holly, nor is she being intentionally insensitive. Like she said, it's been a long few days, y'all.

...Steve really has terrible luck when it comes to trains. Always. Forever. And sorry if this chapter appeared boring to you, even with the battle in Seoul at the end there. I know it wasn't terribly original, going into the captain's mind and through his viewpoint for it, but hey, he's the one who engages Ultron as a distraction, and he's the one who witnesses the twins switching sides. That's just the way it happened.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor any other pop culture references that may or may not have been mentioned.

Next week's chapter may be late, or back on the previous schedule of weekend posting, due to the fact that I will be working from May 1-11 without a day off. My days off are my main writing days, so I'm going to try and work in between my shifts as best I can. If it does end up a little later, then I just ask for your patience and understanding regarding it.

One last thing—I now have an AO3 account under the same username (PhantomProducer, as always), which I will be using very, VERY sporadically. I have posted a one-shot there, called _Missing in Action_ , which is about some details not included in Chapter 44 of _At Day's End_. It's rated MA, technically, hence why it's not posted here, but if you're of age and proper maturity, then I invite you to go over there and read it. Your choice...:)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	23. Chapter 23

The charter the twins had commandeered was, surprisingly, operated by a human crew. It turned out that the older one, the male, had some pull back in Sokovia; they were old schoolmates who had a plane of their own and would hire out to private persons. Backed by Ultron's stolen monetary transactions, they were willing to overlook a lot over the last few days, flying to and from places without anyone suspecting them. On the condition that when they were finished, they would be free and clear of all liability, were the able to justify their actions. Given the interior of the plane, it appeared that the schoolmates, the captain and co-pilot, were doing well enough without the robot's contribution, what with the small bar and leather seats in the main cabin (not to mention the high definition televisions mounted and blaring the news). Steve's expression remained stoic as he boarded after the twins, their swift conversation with the fellows guttural and harsh-sounding to his ears. When they spotted him coming through the hatch, they were shocked, and clearly had thought the Maximoffs had gone insane.

They did turn coat fairly hard, Steve had conceded; it would be confusing at the very least to people who understood the minimum about their past. Still, they had their money, and moreover, the male twin announced in English that they were free to go after depositing them in New York City. Objections were stilled, and with only one last cursory glance to the tall blond fellow, they moved into the cockpit, closing themselves off from the trio.

As take-off was executed, reports began to roll in, relief efforts being made for the city of Seoul and the speculation about the Avengers' appearance there rolling in the background. A fair number had caught footage of Pietro and Wanda, mostly as the young man had zipped around in front of the train to protect civilians, the girl's auras manifesting on the outside of the vehicle as it eventually slowed. Neither of them looked upon the television with relish, not particularly enjoying the varying terms used for them ("freak" was bandied about most often, and even Steve, who had himself been victim to their powers, thought it to be harsh). Eventually, the young woman rose from her seat, changing the channel over to a film that was so light and airy that none of them paid it any real mind.

After going to the back to check in on the comm line once more, Steve returned to the seat he claimed as his own. Tapping into the Tower's communication lines, he eventually was patched through to Holly, who had been deputized to act as liaison in Hill's stead for the moment. Other than hearing that Clint was en route and Bruce had been tweaking things around the lab, she'd heard nothing else all day. She was neck deep in her own projects (something about nonprofits and aid foundations, which he would have to ask the details for when there was more time). They were all well, but none of them were willing to reach out to him. And Stark was still neglecting to respond, which meant he'd either taken out the ear piece or turned it off. That worried the captain. He tried to excuse it, theorizing that perhaps Tony was still in Oslo, hunting down their mysterious online ally. Perhaps the person who was taking advantage and blocking Ultron from accessing nuclear codes was more of an enemy, one that the billionaire did not want to put the team at risk for. Still, with no answers, he could not quell the nerves as they snapped along his veins. Sinking down into his seat with a sigh, he rested his hand on his helmet, perched beside him on the leather. His shield was tucked off to one side, ready to be retrieved at a moment's notice. His gaze darted around the cabin, instinctively shying away from the female twin at the far end and instead focusing on her brother. The fellow was not sitting down; rather, he was pacing back and forth about the small space, fingers fidgeting and hazel eyes sweeping from one window to another. The lack of comfort that surrounded him was off-putting, and it made Steve curious.

"There a problem?" he asked, keeping his tone as genial as possible. Glancing up, the younger man suppressed a grimace and shrugged.

"Still not used to this," he murmured, gesturing to the opulence they inhabited for the time being. Noticing the stiffness in his posture, the captain nodded.

"I understand," he intoned quietly, shifting in his seat. And he did, honestly; conditions aside, he had not totally adjusted to being part of a world, being part of a team, that had unlimited access to the finer things. When it came to armor and weapons, he was more inclined to accept...up to a point. Those were things he used in the service of the greater good; anything else offered didn't feel right to him, not if he hadn't earned it. The twins had been born into a relatively stable existence, but after their parents had died they were shunted off within the Sokovian foster system, the economy less and less stable as time went on. They were not born into such things, unlike some people, and once the gilt wore off, they were aware of the vast differences between their past and present circumstances.

For his part, the younger man looked skeptical. Raising an eyebrow, he maintained eye contact with the captain, refusing to back down. "Do you?"

Steve shrugged, the creak of the leather behind his back punctuating his movement. "I grew up a poor kid in Brooklyn in the thirties. All of it is strange to me, to some degree."

The girl looked up then, her musings broken as the sentence sat in the air. She, and her brother, had forgotten that this man really was a man out of time. Obviously, he did not look it, save for the deep worry in his eyes and his posture, which spoke of a lifetime of experiences they would never know about. Remembering the people they fought against were just humans escaped them at times; their objective against them, their biases against them, had warped the men and woman of the opposing side into nothing more than hateful symbols. Pietro shot a look at Wanda before focusing on the captain again.

"You don't act like it is." The challenge was less than that, and more like an inquiry. The younger man looked to the older, curiosity lining his features. To cope, to live in this life, as something different…something more…he wondered how he did it. Pietro was still finding his way, Wanda too, but they were in the company of a man who knew what it was like. The world had been turned upside down, inside out, and then turned ninety degrees for him, and yet he seemed unflappable.

The clouds gathering at the edges of the blue irises held some of the answer, but he did have more to say.

"Had to learn to take it in stride." The captain shrugged again, chin drooping a little as he went on. "Comes with the territory. But it does affect me, still."

Pietro nodded, supplying, "Deep down."

No matter how settled he appeared to be, Steve knew better. The world, the present times, he was still at a loss in. His abilities, though a wonderful gift, could still be jarring on odd days, when he glanced in the mirror and found the little, skinny guy staring back at him. As he shifted his gaze between the two, he wondered who they saw staring back in the glass.

"Yes. It's not all bad, though," he replied, his voice hushed. Pietro inclined his head after a second or two, his stride calming enough for him to take his seat. The fidgeting of his fingers slowed, and soon enough he lolled his head back against the headrest, lids closing in a doze. The girl, occupied with the twisting of the rings on her fingers, got up once her brother dropped off, heading to the back of the cabin to the kitchenette. Her steps faltered, and her eyes scanned over him. Skittering, crawling worked over Steve's skin as she looked on, and he had to force himself not to shudder. It was an involuntary reaction, but he didn't have to let her see it.

"No, not all of it is bad," she said softly. His eyebrow inclined as she continued to look, though now it was more around him than directly at him. Off his inquisitive expression, she flicked a few fingers, thankfully without any of her aura attached that time. "It's easier to read, now. Your soul."

Steve blinked. "I thought your thing was mental manipulation."

Lines became pronounced in her forehead, and as she indicated a denial, the captain felt a flush crawl up his neck.

' _Well done, Rogers. Just blurt the first thing that comes to mind,'_ he chided himself inwardly. Cutting a glance away, he missed the short spring of amusement in her irises.

"I do not read minds. It's more…emotional. I can see what is felt. It is…what is the word? Vissy, vis…" she trailed off, trying to equate the English word aloud. Her brow screwed up in concentration as she filtered through the second language, the word eluding her for a few moments longer. Lighting upon the answer himself, the captain saw no reason to keep her mired in that way.

"Visceral," Steve coughed, the glint in her gaze growing.

"That, yes." She sat down across from him then, palms twisting against each other as she tried to explain her powers from her viewpoint. Wanda felt compelled to clarify, for a reason she could not name. Perhaps it was so someone would know, besides her brother, that what she could do was not all that simple, not purely black text on a print-out. Perhaps, perhaps she wanted to show her hand so that the playing field would be level. There was nothing in her that should want a former enemy to know the truth of her abilities…but slowly she was realizing that she could not afford to think of the Avengers as enemies. At the very least, she could not let the man before her think that. She owe him that much, as he was giving them a chance to be more. "And when your soul is not clouded in anger, it becomes clearer. In yours, I can see things...imprints."

Wanda hesitated, looking to Steve and assessing his current state. He held himself erect, his breathing tempered as she peered inside. If she concentrated hard enough, she could see the echoes of those closest to him, the feelings they inspired in him shaping them in her consciousness. More than that, his emotions, and motivations, inspired by them washed over her in waves. Whether he truly intended to (and she was certain he did not want her to look deeper than he was comfortable with) the shapes formed, the significant ones cresting with his emotions.

"You do all this for them, not for yourself," she whispered, her stomach clenching as she began to realize the depths she'd gone to. Manipulating fears was done easily enough when she had loathed the enemy with every fiber of her being, when she had nothing but the wall of indifference and rage thrown up. It was crumbling every minute she spent away from HYDRA, from Ultron, the sick dream of his threatening the reality of the world. Her defection to the other side was making her see things differently, and she wasn't sure she liked what she saw in herself in retrospect. "You fight for them, fear for them."

Steve watched her warily, his breathing still tempered as he considered her observations. "In our own way, we all do."

There was a pointed edge to his words, reminding her that his motives were shared by the others of the team. Sure, they didn't exactly follow his to the letter, but in the end, all the Avengers wanted was to help the people who needed it most, protect the world from the worst of the evils within it. And, like the others, there were specific people he wanted to keep safe. A wave of feeling swept through him as he thought on her, and Wanda literally jerked back at the intensity of it. Silence fell between them as she recovered, blinking rapidly to dispel the ripples surrounding her mind.

"She knows this," her hushed tone cut through the quiet, a hand combing her auburn tresses over one shoulder. Boldly, she met the captain's eye, and saw the hard set of his jaw clench tighter for a few moments before relaxing.

"Yes."

With that, the shutters came down, and he refused to concede more than that. Wanda had already dug in deep, and he did not want her to go after his emotions, his fear, again, even if a part of his brain was pointing out that she was unlikely to do so any longer. In turn, her head drooped, focusing on her knees and respecting his wishes, oddly enough. Her hands splayed over them, her mother's rings shining in the light as it cut through the cabin's windows. Contrary to opinion, she did not know what visions she wrought upon her victims. She could only sense the weaknesses, exploiting them and using her powers to twist another person's mind enough so that they could finish the work themselves. It was what she did to Stark, after all; the acrid fear and anguish broiled around him, and it was easy work to manipulate it. It was what she'd done to them all...and for the first time in a long while, she felt that had been wrong. A man, living, breathing, feeling, sat across from her; a human being, not an entity, not a mindless, soulless arm of an organization she'd despised for years. All the others, they were just like him: the factory workers she'd frightened, the security officers...hell, even the god, the Hawk, and the Black Widow. Another set of eyes flashed in her memory, dark and pained as she cornered him, his face contorting as his skin turned sickly and green. Him, too.

Regret, remorse, was a hard knot in her stomach. But she would not be cowed by it. Exhaling sharply, she got to her feet again, turning to go where she'd originally intended. Taking a couple steps, she stopped, half turning and looking back to the older man, his face blank and placid. The wariness in his eyes had returned, curiosity surfacing beneath.

"I'm sorry." Her tongue had moved on its own accord, but it made her sentiments no less heartfelt. There had to be some good to come out of the tenuous partnership she and her brother were embarking on, and it could start here. If they could not stop Stark's meddling (and she knew he would not be able to resist, not with the way she'd play upon his insecurities), she could at the very least make amends for the troubles she'd caused. An eyebrow inclined at her, and she could not quite suppress the squirm that shot down her body. Soon enough, the captain shook his head, leaning it back against the rest and sighing softly.

"It's done with," he replied. Not a total acceptance, nor a complete rejection. The olive branch was extended, the genuine motivation behind it easily discernible. The marks on his soul would not allow Steve to simply swallow the girl's apology and move on, but the fact of the matter was that he had to abide it. The bigger picture was more important, and with global destruction on the horizon, they needed to reach a certain level of peace. He could meet her that far, at least.

Her muted footsteps faded away as she went, and that was the end of that.

 **xXxXxXx**

Holly, by mid-afternoon, had come to a couple conclusions.

The first of which was that Maria Hill had to be the living embodiment of a saint. For around a year, she'd been Tony Stark's assistant, media liaison, and general gofer for Stark Industries, as well as for the Avengers. For every moment of discord, of displacement, she was the one to field the distressed phone calls, answering furious emails and soothing over any sort of wounds inflicted by the company, by her boss, and by the team. Add into the mix that she still maintained ties on the side with Nick Fury, and Holly was certain that the woman's patience levels were astronomical. Sure, she had worked long years in customer service, but not even she was prepared for the daily verbal assaults that would come over the Avengers Tower's phone lines. After taking a few messages down for Maria's later inspection, she eventually just followed her joking advice and walked herself through a digital version of unplugging the line.

The second conclusion was that Stark could not have been paying her enough to put up with the relentless duties she took on. It was nearly impossible to try and keep tabs on the guy. While that wasn't necessarily part of her duties at the moment (all which basically consisted of staying out of trouble and not setting the building on fire until the team returned, in any order) she was taking it upon herself to at least try and figure out where the remaining Avengers were. Steve had called in himself, which eased some of the nerves rumbling her stomach, but other than that she'd heard nothing. Bruce aided her in between their separate projects, attempting several different modes of communication before the billionaire responded. His private jet was on its way from Oslo, his tone distant and snappy as he reported in. They were clogging up his inbox, and it would take hours for him to wade through it all. Merely taking his griping in stride, the doctor took out the device to the lab with him, leaving Holly with a brief few moments of peace before she forced herself to get back to work.

Attempting to forge new policies, new companies, and open channels to existing ones was tough, and even if she was only responsible for a tiny share of the work, it wasn't smooth by any means. She'd had to take a break a few times, just to quell the frustration enough so she wouldn't start crying tears of rage. Still, she'd agreed to embark on the course that Fury agreed with her on and Maria had started setting up, and she was going to do it. It was either that, or sit downstairs in the living quarters, fretting over everything happening and not being sure what to do with herself.

Early evening was descending on the city when the Tower's radar sent a digital alert, the presence of the quinjet coming in making her jump from her seat. Jogging lightly, she padded down the hall to the elevator, rushing out to meet the arrival in the hanger bay. The hatch lowered as she approached, but the occupant within had not come out. Curious, she swiped a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear as she hesitantly moved up the platform.

"Clint!" she called out, squinting and peering into the darkness of the vehicle's interior.

"Holly," the response came, the older man coming into view as she entered fully into the jet. He was in his full regalia, though the bow was stashed away elsewhere. As the system was going through its cooldown, he had moved on to a large, rectangular box. The digital displays mounted into the crafted metal chirped as his fingers slid across, beeps echoing harshly as he failed to unlock it. Glancing up at her, his bright eyes seemed to glimmer a bit, even if the concern lining his face had not decreased. "Good to see you, kiddo."

Motioning down to the box, he walked around to the end, bracing against it and pushing. Catching her nonplussed stare, he rolled his eyes at her.

"Here, help me with this," he murmured, grunting a little as he tried to move it on his own again. Holly snorted audibly, eyebrows shooting up.

"You're joking, right?" she asked, not sure that they could even move the thing an inch with her aid.

Barton dipped his chin, blowing out a short breath. "Just to the service elevator. Come on."

Another sharp gesture was cast in her direction, and Holly grumbled under her breath, obeying his request. After finagling with the box for a bit (it had gotten caught on the lip of the in-floor storage when it was transferred, thus making it difficult to move), the pair got it rolling down the hall. Walking it past the regular elevator, they took it to the more expansive one at the opposite end, its course leading directly into the lab upstairs. Carefully, Holly inquired about any updates regarding the team, as she'd heard nothing since Steve's call. Clint, swiping a hand over his brow and frowning, reported that Natasha had been captured, taken by Ultron. The tracking devices in her suit and equipment had been deactivated, most likely fried by the insidious robot, and it was impossible to get a trace on her. So far as he knew (and Holly confirmed it), the captain was still several hours behind him, and Thor was still off the grid as well.

However, there was still some good to be had, even with everyone scattered to the four winds: Doctor Cho's Cradle had been taken out of the twisted automaton's hands, repossessed by the team to be broken down and destroyed. Holly nodded at that, recalling the newscasts coming in from Seoul over the Tower's interface as she worked. Oddly enough, there had been reports of two unnamed people aiding the Avengers in their still-unknown quest, a man and a woman who appeared to have manifested great powers. Drawing her own conclusions, she couldn't help but wonder if the Enhanced had truly good intentions, or if they were playing a long game for their own benefit. Soon enough, the elevator stopped, the doors swishing open and allowing her to help Clint push the console to the center of the room. Monitors were ringed around the space, outlets ready for hook-up in case they needed it. Banner, already stationed at one of the monitors, quickly fired off a message. A few minutes later, another fellow emerged, hands tucked into his pockets and his dark eyes exhausted. Contemplation lit up his face as he stared down at the retrieved console, and Tony quirked a smirk at the young lady across the room. He'd arrived back a few hours ago, but it did not seem that he was able to shake his jet lag just yet.

"Has anybody heard about Natasha?" Bruce's voice broke through, as aware of the present situation as any of them. The billionaire and the archer both shook their heads, postures tensing as they thought upon their captured comrade.

"No, but she has to be alive still," Stark pointed out quietly, tapping a finger along the keys of the nearest monitor. "Otherwise, Ultron would be rubbing our noses in the failure."

Holly bit her lip then. It was true; the robot would like nothing more than to have a reason to jerk the Avengers' chains. If he wanted to cause them pain, killing one of them would do the trick. Shrugging against the cold shudder that coursed along her body, she instead peered closely at the Cradle. It had been Helen's pride and joy, a machine that would aid in the reconstruction of the human body after severe injury and trauma. It was supposed to revolutionize healthcare around the globe, once it passed its trials. To have it be manipulated, warped into producing a body for an evil automaton's consciousness, had to be heartbreaking. Mists obscured the body withing, keeping it in stasis, and she could barely make out a face. Slowly she pulled back, slightly afraid the thing might open its eyes or something of the like. Her focus ran along the seamless design of the Cradle, unbroken and clean. And, most likely, locked up tighter than Fort Knox (Barton said as much, shaking his head disdainfully at the object in question as he did so).

"What exactly are you guys gonna do to this thing?" she wondered, pressing a palm on the glass. When the body inside did not react in any way, she let a finger on her opposite hand run along the edge of it. "Looks pretty impregnable."

"We'll have to walk it through a deactivation protocol, starting with the operational systems and work our way from there," the doctor said, stepping up to the console and using his rudimentary understanding of Korean to begin the work. Glancing up, he noted the young woman's unsure look, and he thought that perhaps it would be wise to state the objective more plainly. "We're gonna fry it from the inside out, essentially."

Hooking a thumb up, Holly inhaled sharply. She'd gotten the gist of what he was getting at before, but on the positive side, he did not make his simpler explanation sound condescending.

"Gotcha."

Stark circled the console, gently hooking his palm around the crook of Holly's elbow to draw her back. His jaw worked, gaze flying from one end of it to the other. A strange sort of glimmer reflected over his dark irises as he examined the thing, stared at the vibranium body covered in mists. Something about his look caught her attention, made Holly stare. His mind was working hard, that much was clear, but to what end? Suddenly, he spotted her observations, masking the look with a twist of the lips and a hand carding through his close-cropped hair.

Turning to the archer, he inquired, "In the meantime, Super Spy Numero Dos: do you think Natasha might try to reach out in another way? Like in pre-nineties Bond-era ways?"

Barton removed his hands from his hips, concentrating on a point on the floor as he considered it. "I've got a few ideas. I'll get started on it..."

Pivoting on his heel to head downstairs, the other man paused, screwing up his brow and shooting a questioning look over his shoulder.

"Wait, Numero Dos?"

Stark shrugged. "Well, she joined the team before you, technically, so..."

Letting the comment go, Clint departed, intent on finding a non-traceable, non-digital avenue to connect with Romanoff on. Nodding once to himself, the shifting in Tony's peripherals pulled his focus. The young woman still in the room had moved to look at the monitors, connecting a cable when the doctor instructed her to. The billionaire watched her for a moment, contemplating allowing her to stay. After all, it was unlikely she would be of any consequence to his plans; she had reached out to him after the whole party attack went down. She'd offered sympathy, in her own way. However...he knew the girl, knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't take his proposition sitting down. Bruce, he was sure would be willing to try, but she...her thoughts often ran similarly to the uptight member of the morality brigade that she called her fiancé. And more than that, he was fairly certain she would have something to say about it, to the captain if not to his face directly. The kid did have a propensity to speak up when she thought it was necessary, and she might deem it so. Particularly if she felt something was wrong, from her point of view.

Holly couldn't be in the way, much like Clint couldn't be. They couldn't understand why, and so they had to be maneuvered out.

Clearing his throat, he stepped up to her, scratching his neck and waiting until she looked fully at him. "Pepper said she's expecting a call from you sometime. Something to do with a big project or whatever."

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, a hand passing over her face. "Shit. I was going to do that, but with everything going so weird..."

"You should probably get on that," Tony interjected, the excuse his girlfriend had lovingly provided for him coming in useful. "It sounds important, and if I know my girl, she'll want to get that stuff on lockdown."

Though the details were shaky, Stark had an inkling of what they were trying to do. It seemed to be a set of contingency plans if things went sour, but that wasn't his main focus. In any case, he would encourage the pursuit, if for no other reason that it would remove the brunette from the laboratory for a long enough time.

"Sure, yeah..." she said, her tone hesitant. Her dark eyes, just a shade or two lighter than his own, swept around the space. When they settled back on him, he idly wondered if she had an idea of what he was doing. Maybe, given the way that she made no move for the door, but he wouldn't let that deter him. When he nodded and flapped a shooing hand at her, she plodded away, stopping on the threshold. "I'll be back in awhile."

"No rush," Banner muttered, sliding his glasses up his nose and bending to take a closer look at the console. "This is going to take some time."

The billionaire spread his hands wide, palm out and smirk blooming. "If you're looking for explosions and fireworks, sorry."

That earned him a wry grin in return, the smidgeon of humor in her gaze flaring as she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. "That is a shame."

When the glass door swung shut, Stark breathed out carefully. If they were going to do this, if he wanted a chance to set things right, they would have to act quickly. And without interruption, he mused, pulling out his handheld and activating the lab's door locks.

 **xXxXxXx**

One floor below, Hawkeye set himself up in one of the empty offices, dragging equipment from various floors into it. With some tweaking, he set up the space to look like a central command room of sorts, save for the fact that all the materials within predated the tech of the last twenty-five years. Nothing digital was safe; the Internet was owned by Ultron, overseen with an almost omniscient eye as he scanned for any news, any betrayal of the Avengers' whereabouts. All radio channels opened, landlines exhumed, everything Barton could think of that couldn't be monitored by data bytes or WiFi. Headphones were connected to the panels, which reminded him to pull his ear piece out, wiping it with a tissue before setting it off to the side.

As he was booting up his laptop and entering in his own codes, a knock at the propped-open door echoed. Glimpsing the figure over his shoulder, he grunted under his breath.

"What's up, Gracie Lou?" he asked, turning in his chair to face Holly fully. In the time that he'd left the laboratory, she'd cleaned herself up somewhat. Clean clothes, messy hair pulled out of her face...he felt a little gross in comparison. Briefly, he debated taking the time to shower after pulling on his old connections. In her expression, though, was a line of worry that could not be erased.

"They locked the door upstairs. The lab is completely inaccessible."

Her pronouncement made, Clint stared at her, and she merely turned her palms out, cupping the air. After hanging up with Pepper and taking care of herself for the first time in hours, she'd gone back to the lab as she'd promised. When she'd gotten there, access had been denied, and she did not know any override codes to key in when prompted at the door. Looking through the glass, she saw the scientists hard at work, unaware of her presence. Except for the look Banner had shot her through the door, one that was equal parts determination and guilt. Whatever they were doing, they were intentionally keeping the others out.

"You're joking."

"Nope. Something's up, and I don't think it's anything good."

"Well, you don't know that for sure," Barton reasoned, his own suspicions growing. Benefit of the doubt, he reminded himself; it wasn't something he was good at giving others, but his wife's voice in his head could not be ignored. "For all we know, some radiation might leak out of that thing and they want to lock it down, protect the Tower."

The archer and the civilian shared a bleak look, both of them silently rejecting his words.

"You've already been contaminated, then," Holly murmured. Off his confused look, she pointed at the right side of his torso, sniffing. "Because your wound was bonded by that thing's little brother, essentially, right?"

The math and the science of the machines was beyond her understanding, but she knew enough to know that it was unlikely that the portable bonder and the Cradle were vastly different in their make-up. Dread pervaded the space, and Clint swiveled back to his computer, tapping through the systems to access the Tower's grids. After a few unsuccessful attempts to break into the security locks, he abandoned the pursuit, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

"With Stark's overrides keeping the systems in place again, there's really nothing we can do about it," he announced then, leaning back in his chair. Short of busting the glass, there was no way into that lab without Tony's digital permission, and his gut told him that the other man would definitely not be inclined to give it. Holly's dark eyes flitted around the room, the long sleeves of her shirt tucked over her hands. Spying the ear piece on the far table, her feet began to move as her brain churned.

"Maybe not."

Raising an eyebrow, Barton said, "What are you doing?"

Grabbing another tissue and some cleaner, she swiped a few more times at the piece before tucking it into her own ear. It fit snugly, crackling to life as she tapped her finger to it.

"In your day, you'd probably call it being a narc," she teased the older man. "Right now, I'd call it debriefing the leadership."

Clint chuckled lightly. "Or we could all revert back to childhood and call it tattling."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you have a lot of experience there," she shot back, amusement painting her features despite the seriousness. A chill ran through Barton at her words, which he disguised with a narrowing of his eyes.

"What are you implying?"

Blinking, she furrowed her forehead. His reaction seemed strange to her. "That you're really just a kid at heart."

His heart thudded in relief; she didn't have a clue about his recent forays with children and childhood. Whatever Rogers had kept her abreast of, it wasn't his family. He'd respected his wishes, and for that he was grateful.

Physically, he just canted his head and rolled his shoulders. "Fair point."

"Okay..." Holly trailed off, scrutinizing her erstwhile instructor for a few seconds before a response came over the line. Bodily turning her back on her companion, she responded, "Steve? Hey...yeah, yeah, I'm alright. And you?...Good, good. Yeah, borrowing Clint's...how far out are you? Oh, just...I would recommend running when you hit the ground."

Over her shoulder, dark brown connected with bright blue, the older man and younger woman both feeling a nervous drop in their stomachs.

"Something's going on."

 **xXxXxXx**

Six hours later, Steve was about ready to burst out the hatch as the private jet banked along the runway outside of LaGuardia. With the possibility of Stark and Banner resuming their research, it was essential for him and the twins to get moving. Manners dictated that he give the pilots of the plane a polite nod and a thank you, and he did, but his mind was already halfway gone by that point. If what Wanda felt and what Holly said was true, they couldn't waste anymore time. Pietro, of the same mind as him, bid farewell to his comrades, scooping up his sister and following the captain's rapid jog down the tarmac. For rapidity's sake, Steve had to hail a cab, while drawing quite a few stares (not from the cabbie; granted, he did look askance at him, but in the interest of earning his fare, he let the presence of a superhero and a couple of weird kids go). The city was a bright beacon in the middle of the night, but he could find no comfort in the glaring lights and displays of the streets. The Maximoffs looked out the windows with interest, but as they were not there to sight-see, the focus ultimately swung back to the original point of contention.

Deposited down the block from the Tower, Steve felt the dread mount inside him as he pressed forward, skirting the street entrance in favor of the back door. No doubt the security codes for that one had been changed again as well, so he tapped into his comm-link, announcing their arrival to the recipient on the other end.

Several minutes later, the sealed door sprang open, and the trio hustled in. When the portal shut and locked behind them, the captain took a second to look at the young woman there, baseball bat in hand (not taking the quiet as a sign of peace, good for her) and mixing emotions on her face. His heart rate climbed as they locked eyes, never breaking the contact as he removed his helmet and let it drop to the floor. Though in reality it had been only a couple of days since he was in her company, Steve couldn't help the upsurge of feeling that roared through him, taking hold of him as he stepped forward and gathered her up in his arms. He had missed Holly terribly, and to have her with him again loosened the tension in his chest, in his mind. For her part, she gripped him just as tightly, one arm curling around his shoulders as her face was pressed into the crook of his neck, shaky breaths against his armor.

A muffled gasp behind them brought Steve back to the present moment, and out the corner of his eye he could see the twins staring at the shared embrace. Swallowing hard, he let Holly go with difficulty, one palm still pressed along her waist as she drew back. Under his touch, he could feel her body stiffen, her fingers shifting around the grip of the bat. She'd recognized the Maximoffs, pictures and names shared so that she knew where the potential threat lay in case it ever came after her, and she eyed them suspiciously. There was a hard line of anger in her gaze, which Wanda was reading fully if the widening of her eyes was any indication. Though Steve had indicated he would be bringing companions with him, even alluded to them being previous enemies, Holly wasn't about to trust them as yet.

It wasn't any less than what Steve was expecting from her, from anyone. Hell, if they had not stepped up when they did, he certainly wouldn't trust them, either. Risking a sideways glance back to his fiancée, he half wondered if her inner filter would choose that moment to shut off and if she would give them a piece of her mind. Probably would be best to circumvent that event, if he could.

"Still okay?" he asked her, pulling her focus from the twins, fingers brushing along her chin. A corner of his mouth lifted when Holly leaned into the touch, patting his hand with her own. A shrug followed, demurring her feelings even as they reflected brightly in her eyes.

"More or less," she murmured, unconsciously swiping at the skin just below her stitches. Flicking her gaze back to Pietro and Wanda, she exhaled sharply, eyebrows inclining a little. His head shook the tiniest bit; now was not the time for a long-winded story. Relenting, she took his hand, nodding for the others to follow to the elevator bank.

"What's going on upstairs?" the captain inquired, the numbers of the floors ticking by too slowly for his liking. The frown on Holly's lips deepened, her glance sliding off him to the Maximoff siblings.

"Same stuff as the last few hours," she reported, guiding them from one floor to the next. "They've been in the lab too long for it to be a system shut-down. At least, I think so. The read-outs weren't simple to follow, but they did have progress bars and charts, and they appeared to be climbing, from what I could see whenever I snuck by. I think...it looks like they're going to replace whatever Ultron was doing with their own stuff."

Knowing full well that Stark and Banner both probably suspected her sneakiness, they did no less to disguise their efforts (not that they really could with the see-through walls of the lab). And so she honestly felt no worse for doing walk-bys, darting past on and off to try and gauge what they were doing. They'd already endangered the world once with their experiments; she might not be able to do much physically, but she could keep track of the progress.

"So they are continuing his work," Pietro breathed, a hand raking through his silver locks violently. Wanda reached out, seizing his wrist and stopping the assault on his scalp. Holly, unsure of what kind of answer the fellow would be looking for, flicked a few fingers at the air.

"I..."

Steve nodded, digesting the ill information as best he could. "The three of us, we'll go in through the front. Holly, you go back to Clint, see if he can't jimmy the rear access open."

Her brow furrowed then, contemplating the proposed plan.

"If you can get in the front, why would..." she trailed off. Her eyes closed as she walked herself through the thought aloud. "In case they wouldn't let you near the Cradle, he could sneak in from behind. This has bad news written all over it."

"Maybe, but it's what we need to do," the captain replied. Shifting his shield from the harness to his gauntlet, he hesitated with his next statement. "It...it would be a good idea for you to not, well..."

Holly stared at him for a few seconds, her expression full of worry and incredulity. "You think it could get physical."

His sharp grimace was all the answer she needed. Frankly, it turned her stomach to think that the state of affairs between team members on this issue had driven them to that point. Oh, this was not good...The plaintive look in his eyes, the one that begged her to stay out of harm's way, surfaced, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. Mutely, she nodded her agreement, her path diverging from theirs with one last squeeze of his fingers. Jogging lightly down the hall, she burst into Barton's control room, the man inside tidied up since the last time she saw him. He was standing up from his seat and tapping at his laptop excitedly, his headphones dropped to the table with relish.

"Clint..." she began, pausing when she saw the triumphant glitter in his eyes. "What's up?"

"Got a lead on Nat. Morse code came in over the wire," he confessed, hooking up a printer and scanning the open browser for the data. Shock and relief coursed through her system as he spoke; after so long a silence, she had started to despair for the other woman. Coming across the way, Holly bent at the waist to look at the generated satellite feed with him. "I was able to pin down the coordinates."

Noting the label produced in the corner of the screen, Holly couldn't help her snort of derision. "Sokovia, again? Ultron isn't terribly original, is he?"

Clint's mouth lifted at the corners. "In this case, I'm grateful for it."

Retrieving his print-offs, he proceeded to traipse down the hall, but the sudden grip on his wrist stopped him short.

"The lab is still cut off from the front," Holly reminded him. Hooking her thumb behind her, to where the Iron Legion's assembly room was, she continued, "We'd have better luck with the rear access."

Leading the way, she missed the leery look Clint shot at her back. The ring of his boots alerted her to his nearness, but he did not halt her.

"How'd you know about the rear access?" To the best of his knowledge, the only people who knew about the rear staircase were members of the team and Doctor Cho, and Holly was neither. Given that all her previous stays at the Tower did not include laboratory tours, her knowledge seemed fishy. When she glanced back at him, her eye-line focusing on the top of his head rather than his gaze, his suspicions were confirmed.

"...Um..."

Barton expelled air out through his nose, rolling his eyes. "How long ago did the Cap get here?"

Holly lifted a shoulder, tapping her wrist as though a watch was perched there. "Two minutes ago, not even. That's why I came back to find you."

Nodding, the archer lengthened his stride, now forcing her to keep up the pace.

"We better get moving, then."

The robotics assembly space was barren, much as it had been since the destruction of the Legionnaires. The remaining machines had been powered down, the parts on the shelves. The hollow masks seemed to stare as Holly followed lightly on Clint's heels. Light poured in from the laboratory above, the sheets of glass flooring exposing all above. The archer stopped dead in his tracks as he looked up. The captain had already broken in, most likely cracking the glass with his shield to do so. He faced Stark and Banner, both of them rooted by their consoles as the Cradle virtually smoked in the center of the room. And just beyond Cap, he could make out the figures of two others.

"Those kids...he brought those kids with him?" Barton snapped, gesturing towards the pair. Holly sucked in a breath; she'd neglected to mention them, mainly because she knew he would not be reacting pleasantly to their presence.

"There's an explanation for that..." she said, her words nearly lost as the voices above them began to grow in fever and pitch.

"There better damn well be!"

"...Which we won't get to hear if we don't help them settle what's going on," she completed pointedly, nudging the older man towards the back stairs. The rapid clomp of steps above their heads drew their gazes again, blue and white film filtering in the air as the elder Maximoff came to a standstill. Cords and cables were in his hands, horrified looks shot at him as he dropped them against the floor.

Grinding his teeth, Clint snorted. "Well, looks like the settlement was forced. And in that case..."

His hand moved to the sleek holster on his hip, Holly's eyes going wide.

"Wait, Clint, what are you—" she started, biting off her question as he pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the glass above them. She had just enough time to dive backwards, out of the way as the sheets cracked and broke from his gunshot. Her bat rattled on the ground, abandoned in her effort to find shelter. Sliding across the floor, she banked against the back wall, groaning loudly as her ears rang. Another groan mingled with hers; evidently, Pietro had landed as solidly from his own fall. Clint, having kept clear of the spray of glass, stepped over to the younger man, literally kicking him while he was down. A furious glare was cast his way, and the archer merely smirked and raised an eyebrow. A harrumph behind him caught his attention, and he was met with another irritated look on the other side of the floor, this one more feminine.

Lifting a shoulder at Holly, he merely said, "Hey, he started this."

Her retort was lost in the shower of sparks that cascaded from above, the shield flying from Steve's hand and destroying the computer consoles as it went. A repulsor followed it, shot across the room from Tony to the assailant. Holly felt her heart leap into her throat as shouts and screams echoed down, fear for her fiancé shooting through her. Clint took off, thumbing back the hammer of his gun as he went and shouldered through the stairway door. Scrabbling to her feet, she felt a hand grip around her forearm. Her self-defense training kicked in, with her pushing into the hold and twisting her arm towards her chest. She hip-checked the attacker, making him stumble sideways. Realizing belatedly that it wasn't a true attacker at all, she felt her face flush. It was Pietro, trying to help her up; she couldn't help herself when her instincts took over. His befuddled gaze met her embarrassed one, and as she was about to mutter an apology, a loud thump echoed above. The remaining pair below gaped as a crimson cape billowed out, the imposing fellow leaping atop the Cradle and stretching his arm up to the ceiling. Thor, hefting Mjolnir took in a deep breath.

"No, don't!" Bruce's cry cut through the air, attempting to halt the god's seeming path of destruction. However, the entreaty fell upon deaf ears. A tang of metal filled Holly's mouth, the smell of ozone and iron in the air. Electricity coursed down from the ceiling, from the consoles, from every source imaginable. The light of the bolts was blinding, forcing her to shield her eyes with her palm. She could hear Pietro's muted grunts of pain as he shied away as well, the clang and clatter of overloaded monitors met with the crackle of lightning. For several moments, it went on, and then suddenly...silence.

The light faded abruptly, the surge of energy distilled. Waiting with bated breath, she stared up.

A blast erupted, the metal of the Cradle ripping and shooting away, shoving Thor off of it with great force. More glass rained down as he collided with the overhead lights, with Holly and Pietro immediately rolling out of the way. Mist poured out from the Cradle, sparks pinging and showering out from the casing as the body rose, emerged. Curious, she stepped lightly over the glass shards on the floor, the presence of the male Maximoff twin behind her, watching as she did. The creature crouched over the edge, silver and purple coloring its skin, lines streaming over its arms and down its legs. Holly held in a gasp, observing as it started to uncurl.

And when it opened its eyes, taking in its first sight of the world, she was met with the electric blue stare of bewilderment, unfamiliarity...of promise.

* * *

 **A/N:** How about that? I'm posting on the same day as has become the norm instead of being delayed by my interminable workload! Persistence and perseverance prevails!

This chapter covers some ground, I will say. I wanted to show how a little of the time between Steve and the twins passed on the way to New York. Talking strategy, sure, but there had to be something said or done to make them trust each other, at least enough for him to bring them all the way to the Tower. Also, I remember reading in an interview that Elizabeth Olsen viewed the powers that Scarlet Witch has as being more emotionally driven than mentally, which makes sense given that she plays on the team's fears rather just manufacturing experiences in their minds out of thin air. I tried to explain that; hope it worked.

I just hope the chapter wasn't too muddled for anybody to understand; I tried to be as clear and concise as possible. And if it's dragging on in your estimation, then...well, I'm sorry, but I can't force myself to make it go faster. :-S

Closer and closer to the Battle of Sokovia now...closer and closer...

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture/film references made by the characters.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	24. Chapter 24

A heartbeat passed, in which the creation from the Cradle stared down below, into the shadows at her. A blink of an eye, and then it was gone.

The creature, blinking, turned his head, allowing the light above to glance across his violet form and silver markings. Stunned, Holly watched as his gaze darted from the left to the right, assessing the other people surrounding him, no doubt. The destruction of the lab must have made him wary of the world he was born into, and when his gaze focused forward, he did not hesitate. Flying, he disappeared from her sight, the sound of smashing glass echoing back to her. Shooting a look over her shoulder, she saw the blue and white mist of Pietro dissipating into the air. Sighing under her breath, she trailed behind him out of the robotics bay, climbing through the hole still left in the wall and the rest of the team joining them by various degrees. Rather than being on the ground and knocked out, the creature was hovering by the far window, fixated on the sight of the city beyond. Thor, setting his hammer down upon one of the side tables in the sitting area, approached him slowly, a preemptive hand keeping the others at bay. Steve, having retrieved his shield in case there was a need, heeded the god's unspoken demand. They all gathered in the open space, with Holly hovering towards the back as the others advanced slowly towards the new being.

As the seconds ticked by, the oddness of the situation penetrated her mind, but in comparison to the last several days' events, it was almost par for the course. She almost snorted out loud at the thought, noting how far gone she must be to consider any of the situation to be remotely acceptable. Instead, she just placed a hand against her mouth, leaning against the handrail of the stairwell as the android turned. The electric blue orbs swept over them all again, his body propelled away from the window and settling back on the ground. To Thor, he inclined his head apologetically.

"I apologize," it murmured, the masculine voice accented and cultured. It—he, rather—examined the god more closely, and upon finding no hostility in his form, relaxed slightly. A cape materialized on his shoulders, glossy gold and reminiscent of the inner panels of a hard drive in design. "Very strange. But I thank you for your efforts."

Holly's eyes widened, a tiny gasp escaping her lips as she realized why the creature sounded so familiar to her. She knew that voice; JARVIS had the run of the Tower, of a great majority of Stark Industries, and even the security system in her own apartment. She'd spoken with the UI many times, knew its tone...but now, it had a face, a body... _he_ had a face. But...Tony himself had declared the UI dead, essentially...did he resurrect the program and plug it into the android body?

While she, and the majority of the others, continued to simply stare at him, Steve took a step forward, raising his chin and directing his inquiries to Thor. When asked how and why he assisted Banner and Stark in bringing the creature to life, the god squared his stance, absolute confidence in his form.

"It was in my dream," he stated plainly, elaborating further upon the content of it. His vision, he told them, showed him the beacon at the center of the controversy, acting jointly as a herald of doom. It was one of six stones, Infinity Stones he called them. They were gems, evidently, that had the power to destroy all life in the universe, particularly when used together. And one of those gems, he went on, was now upon the android's head. Set like in a widow's peak upon his forehead, the gem there glowed, a vibrant orange standing out from the violet of his face. At the back of her mind, Holly recalled Barton muttering about the Cradle, how it could have leveled the city if it was not handled properly (it was why they had to move it so carefully from the quinjet, no matter how much they bitched about it). In the moment, she'd thought it was due to whatever electrical and material power that was possessed by the Cradle itself, not the contents. Evidently, she was wrong.

"If it's that dangerous, then why would you—" the captain cut in again, a sliver of frustration and not a little bit of worry in those few words. The twins behind him shared a glance, the physical agreement with his feelings in their expressions. Thor held a hand, a gesture of peace.

"Because this is what we need. Stark knew this from the start," he intoned meaningfully. From his place, Bruce let out a low whistle, muttering something about it being the first sign of the apocalypse. Ignoring him, the god continued, "Defeating Ultron is beyond us."

"It would be impossible on your own," the android concurred, his voice still making Holly's head reel. As the creature walked into the middle of the group, to let them examine him in turn, Tony looked on, slack-jawed. Stumbling in his speech, he attempted to explain how they had taken JARVIS's operational matrix and protocols to create him, to be the power within the body. He was supposed to be greater, something new that Ultron would not expect. The captain snorted, his tone derisive as he retorted about reaching the capacity for new things in his life. The creature looked to him then, his placid features furrowing.

"Ultron has no sway over me, if that is what you think," he said, meeting Steve's gaze without hesitation. "He is not who I am."

"Then what are you?" Wanda asked, coming nearer, a flicker of scarlet decorating her irises for a second or two. "I saw into your soul. Despair and destruction threatened the world at your hand. Are you sure that's not who you are?"

The android turned to her, calmly facing her in her mounting rage. "I advise you to look again, if you're uncertain."

Clint scoffed openly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, that's not gonna fly. I don't trust her word blindly, and probably nobody else does, either."

Holly's eyes darted from one speaker to the next, mouth clenched shut but inwardly agreeing with Barton's sentiments. The other girl in the room had not done anything to make her trustworthy, even if her fiancé had seen something redeemable in her and her brother. Thor looked to the archer, spreading his arms as he wished to make them all understand his reasoning. The enhanced powers of the Maximoffs, the nightmares that had toyed with their brains, even Ultron himself had come from the gem upon the creature's head. The Mind Stone, as he named it, could unleash horrors beyond their collective imaginings.

"If it can aid us—"

"Can it?" Steve posed the question, his tone hardening as he glanced from the god to the android. "Will you help us?"

For the first time, the creature looked to the ground, away from them all. Half pivoting, his electric eyes ran along the floor, simplicity not to be found in the question. His eyes flicked up, settling across the room on Holly. The blankness of it made her squirm, because she could feel in her gut that there was much more going on in his head than he was letting on. Crossing her arms over her middle, she stared at her feet, tapping the toe of her shoe on the tiles.

"I will do what I can, for the good of the world," the android announced, turning back to the team after another beat of silence had passed. And therein marked the difference between him and the automaton, the one that made all the difference. Ultron wanted to end it all, and would, once the Avengers showed their hand and came for him. Barton coughed, sharing the information that he was awaiting them overseas, back in Sokovia. With Natasha providing the coordinates, it should be simple enough to track him down, force a reunion.

Bruce, who had been quiet throughout the latter exchange, stepped forward, stopping only when he was foot or two away from the creature. His creature, the one his help had truly demanded. The stony cast to his eyes spoke volumes, and then he followed it with actual words.

"This better not be a trick. If you're the threat that Ultron promised..." he trailed off, letting the silence afterward punctuate the point. In stature, the android topped him by a few inches, but his form was the formidable one. Meekly, the creature accepted his harsh demeanor, nearly whispering as he wondered what he would do to him if he turned. Banner's eyebrows inclined sharply, his stance unwavering, but he said nothing.

"It's not my wish or intention to kill anything, much less Ultron," the android murmured, a flicker of emotion crossing his face. A thread of turmoil came into his voice, which made Holly suck in a breath upon hearing it. "But he will not stop until the earth has paid for its sins, and so he cannot be allowed to live."

Nothing could be left behind of the automaton, he implied, not even the vaguest form. And it could not be done by just one of them; they all had to go into the fray. He looked down at his body then, hands lifted and curling as he examined his new form. It had to be so strange to him, so weird to be in that moment, alive, and knowing the things he knew, Holly mused silently. A forlorn look passed over his features as he spoke again, and his cape furled around him as he moved.

"However, I cannot speak to my true nature," he said, almost ruefully. Stopping in front of an end table, he turned his back to them all, his shoulders drooping. "What I was supposed to be, and what I must be, are two different things. And who I am in between that, I have no idea. I wouldn't suppose that would be enough for some of you to allow me to help. But no matter what, we cannot stay here."

The unhurried motion did not allow the enormity of his gesture to instantly impact upon them all. But as he lifted Mjolnir, passing it back to Thor and walking away, it dawned on them all as to what exactly he had done. If Holly had been in a different frame of mind, she would have found the event comical (and would laugh about it later on; the creature evidently had a great sense of dramatics, even if he didn't realize it), but much like the others, she was in total shock at the time. Her mouth quirked into an O shape, her index finger pointing at him as he left, though nobody paid her gesture any mind. Did that...did he just...

Thor, just as surprised as everyone else, recovered the quickest. Rotating the hammer in his hand, he brushed the broad side of it with a shrug and a twist of the lips. He strode after the creature, giving Tony a hearty pat on the shoulder as he passed. Eventually, Steve cleared his throat, pulling all of the others out of their respective dumbstruck hazes as well.

"Five minutes. Suit up, and then we'll move out," he commanded, the group immediately splitting off. The Maximoff kids looked to him for direction, and he pointed out a general equipment bay down the hall, on the opposite side of the robotics lab. Taking his sister's arm, Pietro pulled her in that direction. Tony and Bruce, glancing to one another, trekked back up to the laboratory to gather last-minute supplies. Barton, scratching his head and mumbling under his breath, made to go to the elevator, but broke off on his path for a moment to speak to the remaining girl by the stairs.

"You gonna be okay, Gracie Lou?" he asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Obviously, she was still recovering from what she would privately term as the moment of necessary exposition. She would be left behind once again, with no guarantee of safety. After all the craziness of the last few days, he just wanted to assure himself that she would be able to function. He liked her too much to just let her swallow everything and force herself to carry on. Her dark eyes flicked over to him briefly, but her gaze focused beyond him again, to the remaining man standing at the center of the room.

"I'll be fine," she assured him, her voice small but unwavering. Sighing, he gave her back a pat, discreetly nodding to his leader before exiting the space and heading down to his equipment locker. Steve acknowledged it with a dip of his chin, but his attention was focused on the brunette. He had nothing left to retrieve; he had all his accoutrements that he required to go into battle. The time limit was his, was theirs, to utilize as they saw fit. He didn't want the distraction of sitting in the quinjet, waiting for the other to return. Not when Holly was there.

He wanted...needed...to be with her for those few remaining minutes. There was no way he would do without her.

Striding over to her and taking her by the elbow, Steve guided Holly out of the main space, away from the harsh light and into the shadows. He brought her down the steps into the small alcove they'd danced in only a few days beforehand, the privacy afforded there unbroken by the others. His blue gaze traveled up and down over her as they walked, heart pounding and aching simultaneously as he looked upon her. The sense of finality that clung to the edges of the entire mission weighed down on him; the promise that Ultron made could very well be met in just a few short hours. It was very possible, even probable, that the team, if not the world, could perish. That he could die in the attempt of saving and protecting the world, and never see her again. That feeling was not new (they had both acknowledged the terrible truth of his chosen vocation long ago) but it was heavy, and made the cold fear rise up again. Swallowing it down, he let his eyes wander over his girl's body, her face, the details long since memorized but still a welcome sight. And when they stopped by the far wall, she began doing the same as well. Her fingers curled loosely around the tags hanging from her neck, clenching tighter as his gaze dropped to them. In the low light, he saw her biting her lower lip, brown eyes wide and uncertain of what to do, or say.

He knew, in that moment, what to do.

Carefully, Steve removed his shield from his gauntlet, placing it gently on the ground beside them. As he swung back up, he caught the quirk of her eyebrows, the question blooming on her face. He did not give her the chance to ask it, as he moved closer to her. Reaching out, one hand gripped her waist and the other slid into the waves of her hair, his lips capturing hers as he pulled her flush against his body. It could hardly be classified as a sweet or gentle embrace; the moment was too charged for chaste pecks and careful touches. If the worst should happen, for either of them, he wanted their last memories of one another to blot out the devastation that would come after. The kiss was hard, passionate, his mouth melding with hers as more followed. She matched his intensity, her tongue brushing his as she opened up to him. Her hand gripped desperately at a strap of his harness, her other palm moving from the back of his neck into his hair. Holly moaned low, passing the sound from her mouth to his and making a shudder course down his spine.

It was over too quickly, but there was no time to be spared for more. A small groan reverberated at the back of his throat when they broke apart, the air flooding his lungs, but it could not be helped. Soon enough, he would have to go, leave her again. As much as he would have rather stayed with her, kept her in his arms, they both knew that would not happen. Captain America had his duties, and his gal did not want him to shirk them.

"Steve," she whispered, her breathing as erratic as his at that moment. He closed his eyes again, resting his forehead against hers as he fought the jumble in his mind, his heart overriding everything and making him inarticulate.

"Too much to say, too little time to say it," he said, arms tightening around her. "In case things, well..."

The words caught in his throat, thickening it, and clearing barely helped.

"If you want, I have some money downstairs...you could use it, buy a ticket and go home to your family," he offered, willing to do what was necessary. Staying at the Tower was not required any longer, and if he could get her somewhere that was a comfort, that would provide her with safety and to allow her to be around the people she loved, he would give her that, regardless of the outcome. "And when this is over, I'll come get you."

The grin she gave him was watery and slightly forced, the offer remaining in the air without approval or rejection. Instead, she pulled back enough to look him in the eye, fingers splaying over his chest, over the outlined star and tracing it.

"I love you," she murmured, the sentiment strong in her voice as water pooled at the corners of her eyes. Cupping her face with both hands, Steve brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, an attempt to stem the fear and sorrow in her as well as the tears.

"I love you, too." His lips hovered just above hers once more, his heartfelt whisper ghosting over them. "And will, for the rest of my life."

Closing the distance herself, Holly seared him with another hard, deep kiss. Despite her efforts, a stray tear or two fell, and his heart cracked a little at the thought as they slid into his hands, dashed onto the skin and leather. When she broke off the kiss, she sniffed a few times, coughing and attempting to get a hold of herself. After taking a few breaths, she looked at him again, the sheer adoration in her eyes overpowering him. It was reflected back at her as well, causing her to have trouble finding her voice.

"Come home to me," she said, just a call came from the direction of the main space. It was time to go now, time to meet his destiny head-on. A smirk flickered on her mouth, a weak, joking command following. "And that is an order, soldier."

A half grin came then, his fingers reaching up and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Be careful. Whatever you decide."

A final brush of his lips over hers, and then he stepped back. Lifting his arm, he flexed his hand to activate the electromagnetic strips and summoned his shield to reattach. Holly raised her eyebrows at the motion, and he merely flashed her a wry smile, drawing himself to his full height and striding away. A minute or two passed with her frozen to the spot, but as she heard the quinjet's engines begin to cycle up through the floor, she dashed to the nearest window, watching as the black vehicle cut a swatch through the cityscape, disappearing into the night sky. Shuddering breaths petered out as she rested her head against the cool glass. No, no more tears, she chastised herself, swiping at her eyes furiously. Alone, alone again, left to the work, or left to wallow.

At that moment, she couldn't quite decide what she would prefer to do, if she were being honest. Steve had given her an easy out. She could abandon the work she was doing, leave it all to Maria and Fury, and whoever else they had working on the project as well. She could run home, run back to her mother and father, take refuge with them and her brother, hide and stew away while the fate of the world was decided. But...

There was always a "but". And this one was that she just couldn't sit by and watch it happen. There was no way Holly could just let everything go, even if she was sorely tempted to do so. A year ago, perhaps, she might have just let it pass her by, but she was no longer the same person she was then. She couldn't just let the world, her love, be at risk any longer and not attempt to do something to help. If she were to leave the Tower, it wouldn't be to go into hiding. And as she saw it, there was only one reason that would give her a chance to leave and still be able to do something for the good of the team.

She was tired of it, tired of watching things get worse and keeping away from the danger. It accomplished nothing, and she couldn't take being less than useless.

Hardly conscious of what she was doing, her hand had gone into her jeans pocket, phone retrieved and speed dial swiped before she had a chance to question her reasoning. The dial tone sounded off once before the click of an answer on the other end reached her ear.

"Miss Martin. Glad to see you're taking my advice."

She bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to chuckle at Nick Fury's utter confidence or grumble about disproportionate amount of self-pride in his statement. As it was, she knew that all she really could do was move on.

"Yes, sir," she responded, trying to find a way to break the news to him. "Um, well, the team's headed out, to meet Ultron."

A sharp exhalation grated over the line, and before he could say another word, she took her chance.

"I do know where they're going."

Another pause followed, and when her answer was not forthcoming, he asked with faux politeness, "...Care to share?"

With the half-baked plan forming in her mind, she knew that if she wanted to carry the day, she would have to match his level of confidence. So, with decidedly forced cheer, she chuckled under her breath.

"I would. Though it will have to be in person." That was the stipulation, the crux of the matter. Being left on her own, unable to do anything without the others, was not what she wanted. So, she would change the course, or at very least, the venue of operations for her to continue her work. Perhaps it was a stupid idea, and would be her ruin just as much as flying back to Minnesota would be. But, no matter what, she would try. And, while the information wasn't classified, she knew better than to just give it up so easily. She knew Nick would appreciate that fact. "Don't want to give the robot the jump."

It was hard to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling in the space where Fury left her hanging for permission or denial. Truth be told, her emotions had been all over the place; beginning to understand them all was tough. Tasks she could focus on, tasks she could do. The scramble in her own brain was a little too much to process at the time. Her free hand clenched into a fist, the fingers crossing as he deliberated silently.

"I see," he muttered eventually, the tone sounding less than thrilled with the caveat she'd imposed. Thinking he was going to deny her additional information (most likely he could find the team without her input, one way or another, she figured) Holly let a soft sigh loose. When Fury spoke again, she felt her throat constrict and her eyes widen in surprise. "ETA will be an hour; be ready for street pick-up. Bring a bag, and be discreet."

He was gone before she could respond, the timer on her phone's screen flashing on and off until it went dark. Blinking rapidly, she felt her body sag with a sense of perverse relief. For some reason, Fury was willing to allow her to come to him. Being in close proximity to him would allow her to continue to be of use. Swiftly, she exited the main space, rushing to the office to gather up relevant files, her laptop, and one of the tablets Maria had borrowed to her for her use. Between the three things, she had her list of nonprofits and organizations she was pooling to work in conjunction with the Avengers. Taking her armload down to the quarters, she was practically flying, new energy flushing through her as she assembled her belongings, tossing everything into her duffel. On impulse, she even grabbed a couple of Steve's clothes, wedging them in between her stuff. Haphazardly, she pushed in her toiletries, zipping the bag with force. Snatching the first jacket that came to hand, she threw it on over her shirt, straightening the pony tail that Steve's fingers had pulled askew earlier. Without pausing, she shouldered the strap of the bag, making a final run back upstairs to retrieve her bat from the Legionnaire bay. Taking the elevator down to the ground floor, she tried to still the shaking in her hands by gripping the baseball bat hard and tugging on the bag's strap. The main lobby was deserted, as it was the norm for the middle of the night, the security lights casting an eerie glow around the room. Dropping her bag to the ground, she sat down beside it, folding her legs and attempting to calm the hard gallop of her heart. Her mind churned around and around, the facts and details of the last few hours making it spin.

One fact, pushed to background as events moved on, came roaring to the forefront, and after she spent some time inwardly debating how to act upon it (or to even just ignore it) Holly made her way to the back door. On the way, she stooped to grab the helmet Steve had abandoned, an annoyed huff passing her lips as she held it tightly. Reaching the door, she typed in the code and propped it open with the bat. The taser, charged and tucked snugly in her pocket, was reassuring and solid as her fingers curled around it. The streetlamps didn't fully reach down the alley to her, the glow yellow and pooling across the concrete as people chattered and passed on the sidewalk. The traffic flow, thinned slightly in the late hour, was still moving, headlights flickering by. In the midst of the city noise, she drew on the silence immediately surrounding her, eyes narrowing as she looked to the shadows, trying to detect any shifts therein. Finding nothing, she expelled a snort, shaking her head to herself. It was foolish, she mused, reaching out as she was. Yet, she was still there, balancing on the balls of her feet, doing it.

Swallowing thickly, her voice was a thread of a whisper when she finally spoke, the open air pressing upon her.

"I don't know if you can hear me, wherever you are. I'm just letting you know, since you're doing that whole watching-out-for-me thing, that I'm pretty sure that I'm headed right into danger. Pretty stupid, I know, but...the team needs help. He needs help," Holly explained, clenching her hand tightly around the chin strap of the helmet, looking down at her feet. "And maybe...maybe that's something you could do, too. You could come and help, I mean. Even if this is exactly the kind of thing you're hoping to avoid...even if you'd rather not let anyone know about you. But, well…it's not all that simple. What's going on is bigger than me, bigger than you...it's our world.

"And it may be screwed up and weird, and definitely not what anybody wanted it to be, but it's ours. If you want to have a place in it, you can't let it go on without you. I'm not your redemption, but this...this could be the making or breaking of it. Seriously, without this, you'll be stuck where you are, forever. And maybe you can make that work, but I don't know if you can live with it. I don't know if you'll be living at all, no matter what."

The honesty in her tone gave her the strength to voice her thoughts, a stream of consciousness that she could not subdue, even if she wanted to. If he was nearby, she wanted him to hear, to understand, even if she herself couldn't. Another half-baked idea, one that could cost more than her own life this time. The words came from deep down, the offer there if he wanted it.

"But if you want a chance, if you truly want it...please..." Holly mumbled, her resolve weakening slightly as no reply came. Inhaling sharply, she addressed the air one more time. "James. Please...Bucky."

Honking horns and discordant voices echoed down the alley to her, and the shadows were still. Her head drooped, eyes closing as she chided herself for even giving the idea credence. Turning back to the door, the metal scraped back as she pulled it towards her, and she stooped to remove her bat from being a doorstop. Swinging back up, she let the door go, to let it swing shut behind her. A clang resounded from behind her, and she jumped back, startled. In the weak lamplight, the hazy glow reflected off a metal arm, in the dark-haired man's bright blue eyes. His jaw quirked as she stared at him, and he released the door, bracing his leg against it to keep it open. The metal palm turned up to her, a gesture of acceptance, and of question.

"Where?" Bucky Barnes asked quietly, nothing of the hardness that could usually be found in voice there. His supplication, his want, was more evident, and to that, she could answer.

Nodding her head back to the interior of the lower lobby, she shifted in her stance and bade him to follow. "Come on."

* * *

 **A/N:** …Told you I was going to go AU on this. ;) And it's going to keep going that way, just for your information.

I'm actually pretty pleased with myself, getting this chapter done well ahead of time. Maybe it's because I'm finally feeling like I'm progressing to where I want to work in the story. Not that I haven't wanted to work on any of it, but this chapter was so easy compared to some of the others I've worked on. Either way, it means two chapters in one week. I can't promise this pattern will continue, in fact it most likely won't, but it does work in your favor this week.

That being said, the Avengers are on their way to Sokovia. Holly's on her way to…wherever Nick Fury is. And Bucky is going with her.

I've had plans for Bucky, definitely different ones than the MCU has gone with. Here's the thing: I'm not his biggest fan—I think quite a few others can take that title—but that's not to say I don't find his character intriguing. It just seems to me that the MCU is more than happy to continue using and abusing Bucky for the sake of conflict. Obviously, I don't know what's going on entirely in Civil War, as I've not seen it yet, but I've heard enough rumors to know it's going to be an ugly mess for the poor dude. I may not be All-Bucky-All-Day, but I want something better for the guy than to be the convenient scapegoat (not to say that CW won't be brilliant in regards to handling his story that way, but it is a pain for him to still be unable to seek redemption if it comes down to the superheroes' fighting). He's actively seeking redemption in my story; I want him to get closer to it. Like I've stated, I've had plans for him, plans that include him fighting for the world in Age of Ultron—which, when it came to the Battle of Sokovia, I thought he would show up for when I saw it in theaters. I seriously held out hope that he was going to show up when Fury and Hill brought the helicarrier or something. Truly.

And with him becoming more actively involved…this means a shift in events for the future. Which I will get into in a later author's note, and stop dropping hints and be totally open there. Just not in this one.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture/other movie references made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	25. Chapter 25

Shortly after Bucky followed Holly into the main lobby of the Tower, a nondescript vehicle pulled up quickly to the curb. The ex-assassin followed the civilian, keeping close to her side as she shouldered her bag and stuffed the helmet into it. He drew up the hood of his sweatshirt, the canvas jacket atop it tightening as he squared his shoulders. The metal hand slid into one of his pockets, shielding it as he stepped out onto the street. His mind was churning as he stood behind her, eyes flicking left and right, vigilantly observing the passersby for threats. None thus far, which gave him the opportunity to spare half a thought to contemplate what in the hell he was doing. The decision to emerge from the shadows, to dedicate himself to a cause he did not yet know anything about, had taken even him by surprise. He had been so adamant of his stance, so rigid about staying on the fringes of the world that her pleas should not have had any effect.

They did, though. They affected him more than he had thought possible. The guilt and anger, the bitterness and the torment were a never-ending cycle in him, destroying his soul as each day passed. The last year had been spent finding himself, rediscovering the truth, and attempting to make amends for his gruesome mistakes. Not for forgiveness, he did not expect to get that, but just to be able to live at all. Her words washed over him, playing over and over in his mind. Protecting her, he had known from the beginning, was only be a step towards that goal, and was never meant to be a permanent solution. Trouble was, he had no idea what the next step could be.

Perhaps that was why, truly. And to let the opportunity pass by, without ever attempting to give it a chance, was foolish. In any case, he would not be any worse off than he was at that moment. Given that she was already injured while being under his watch (he did not know the full circumstances of it, other than that the row of stitches had appeared after an attack gone wrong in the presence of her fiancé), it was most likely time for him to readjust his priorities.

He was rethinking his stance on that when she pressed through the crowd, shoving between people to get to the unmarked car. Tightness in his stomach put him on alert, but Bucky was unsure whether that had to do with breaking cover or with her own ridiculous headlong surge into potential danger. She was right; she was walking right into trouble, and it was stupid.

And what did that make him, exactly? The warring half of his mind was snarling at him, calling him out viciously as he went. The back door of the car popped open, and the girl was pulled up short for a second or two, causing him to nearly collide with her. Recovering as swiftly as she could, she adjusted her grip on the strap of her bag, peering nervously behind to Barnes.

Using the tipping of her chin as a gesture, she barked at the occupant of the back seat, shrouded in darkness and not having climbed out as yet. "Hey, I know this is last minute, but he's with me."

"I know," came the answer, the scuttle of someone moving over leather nearly undetectable in the murmur of the city's activity. The familiarity of the voice struck him, and the girl, at the same time. And that thought in itself was jarring, for he was still adjusting to being familiar with anything. Holly's mouth gaped open, her eyes going wide as the occupant rose out of the vehicle to greet them.

"Sam!" she crowed, one arm curling around the other man's shoulders. Clearly, whomever she was expecting to be in the car, it was not him. At least it seemed to be a pleasant enough surprise. "How...what..."

The fellow flapped a hand in the air, cupping his palm towards the sky after returning the embrace.

"You know, I was gonna call for an update on how things were going, but Maria certainly has a way of beating people to the punch," he told her, an explanation that the two of them seemed to understand. Being in the dark wasn't an entirely new concept to Bucky, but that did not mean it did not grate on him. He should have asked for more details beforehand, and judging by Sam's wearied expression, he must have felt he should've done the same. "And frankly, if you'd told me about this, I wouldn't have believed it until I saw it."

Holly chuckled nervously, the shift of her eyes between the two men telling. "It was a last minute thing."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Awfully blasé about it, aren't you?"

"Coping mechanism," she muttered, shifting onto her back foot and hooking a thumb into one of the belt loops of her pants. Something in her posture irked Barnes, and when he glanced back at Sam, he found a similar reaction on his face. He may not have known her well, but even he could tell an excuse when he heard one. The other man's gaze slowly moved from her to Barnes, the scrutiny of it making him hold himself still. A distant memory, a man screaming in his face to remain at attention, popped up, and he only just stopped himself from snapping his heels together at the recollection. Instead, he purposefully relaxed his body, knees bending slightly and arms crossing over his chest. The ex-assassin said nothing to any of it, instead letting his blue gaze meet the brown one squarely. After a minute, Sam sighed deeply, flicking a few fingers at him.

"You think Fury will go for it?" he asked Holly, no doubt wondering how on Earth she thought such a thing could be possible. Fury…Fury, the name sounded familiar to him…the last mission, the last one he completed successfully as the asset he was made to be. An older man, swathed in black from head to toe, the starkness of an eye patch stretching across his face. Unbidden, a frown formed on his lips; if the man they called Fury was still alive, he had not achieved his target as he'd thought.

That could either be a good thing or a bad thing, depending upon the circumstances.

"Maybe, maybe not," Holly told him honestly, the hurried glance she'd tossed at him laced with worry. Swallowing, she forged ahead. "But...somebody's gotta give it a chance, and for once, it shouldn't only be Steve."

The lines in the other man's face turned sour then, sharp looks passing from Barnes to Holly as he responded. "Shouldn't be you, either. No offense, but people are going to question your judgment. Both of you."

The vicious, rough mumble was out of Bucky's mouth before he could stop himself, and made both of his new-found companions stare incredulously at him.

"Who hasn't?" he snapped. The sense of heaviness pervaded him, the weight of too many times where his words were true underlining them. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but it was no less than what he was already feeling. Hell, the fact that he was feeling anything at all was putting him off-kilter, and he refused to be the only one. Holly, wincing at the harsh concurrence that was cycling through her own mind, let her head droop.

After a few more moments in which the nightlife of the city spilled and echoed around them, Sam waved his hand back at the car, the driver eying them impatiently from the front seat. "...Either way, we gotta split. We don't want to miss our ride."

"How far out are we going?" Holly asked, sliding in after him. Bucky, crawling in last, barely heard the amused snicker that floated out of the other guy as he took up the last bit of seat. There was no offer for one of them to move up to the front; both the driver and passenger seats were filled by two mean, operatives, and so no relief could be found there. The bag she'd brought with was draped across all three of their laps, her compatriots rolling their eyes at her scrunched, apologetic face.

"'Up' would be the more appropriate term," Sam remarked, causing both Bucky and Holly's heads to turn.

"What?"

 **xXxXxXx**

Sam had been right. After weaving through midnight traffic out of Manhattan to the airport, the trio had disembarked to an oddly-designed jet. Bucky remembered similar ones from the disaster over a year ago, but did not note them at the time. Evidently, the organization initially in charge of those things had commissioned more. However, he was under the impression that SHIELD had fallen, and therefore access to such vehicles was implausible. Apparently, he was wrong. About several things, he snarked to himself as he went up the platform, strapping himself into a harnessed seat off to one side of the jet. Of his old life, there wasn't much he could recall terribly strongly, but he did know how little he liked flying. Well, it was less about the act of flying, more that he disliked the chances of falling from a great height. And he hated it for a good reason; it was a fall that had cost him his left arm, after all, amongst other things.

In hushed tones, Sam (or Sergeant Wilson, as he was addressed by the pilots up front) further told them about an operative appearing on his doorstep, the one called Maria, coming to recruit the active and militant friends of the Avengers that they could get in touch with on short notice, summoning them to assist with a stand-off. The only thing they lacked was a solid lead on the Avengers' chosen battlefield. Holly took in a deep breath as the jet cut a swatch in the sky, the lurch in Buck's stomach nearly distracting him from her reply.

"And that's where I come in." Ah, so she knew where they were going; that's why she was willing to put herself in the hands of these people. The mission, though not explicitly stated, was becoming clearer to Barnes with each passing minute. Swiping the strands of his dark hair out of his face, he could feel his mind turn, processing the information presented and working out a plan that play into his advantage. That would aid his redemption.

The flight was no more than twenty minutes in length, the jet breaking above the low cloud layer and coasting through the night sky towards... _something_. It was large, blotting out the stars as only a massive void could. As they approached it, blinking lights similar to those on a runway reflected back, the void taking shape. Massive turbines enabled the the center, an aircraft carrier, to hover in the air without hindrance. Dully, his brain recognized the design, and he shot a look around the girl to the other man. He returned it with a look of his own.

"That's...how did Fury get a helicarrier? I thought they were all wrecked over a year ago," Holly breathed, ignoring their loaded glances and removing herself from her seat. Staying on the fringes of the cockpit, she squinted out into the darkness, the lighting atop the carrier outlining its form more clearly. "Or at least the rest were decommissioned or something."

"Evidently, some have been put into storage. Sort of a contingency plan in case the ones we trashed did get trashed," Sam retorted, lifting a shoulder and smirking. Bucky said nothing to that, concentrating on the ever-approaching vessel and the increased tension in his body. The edge grew ever closer, and he did not like being uncertain of the ground he would be on. But he had put his—for lack of a better word—trust in these people, in the young woman who requested his assistance, and so bit back his complaints.

Soon enough, the jet made its descent onto the landing platform, coming to a full halt and relieving the drop in Bucky's gut enough to let him unbuckle the harness with little difficulty. He allowed Sam and Holly to stride ahead, a hand pulling his hood forward as he stooped out of the hatch. The wind upon the platform was too strong for it, knocking it back and exposing his face to the biting air. Light spilled from a wide set of doors to the right, forms in black tumbling out. The tromp of their boots, the zipping shuffle of their uniforms as they rushed out, made him instinctively tighten up, his defenses rising. Circling up, he used his body to shield the girl from behind, her stance as the weakest in the group making her a primary target. After a few moments of the intruders merely ringing around them, their hands tucked loosely around rifles and pistols, he whipped his head around, Sam's palm landing peacefully upon his arm and his chin dipping slowly. Little by little, Bucky adjusted his body, defensive still, but not openly so as he pulled himself to his full height and glowered at the others.

A new voice rent the air, the shouting above the wind forcing all of them to stare at another arrival. The dark man in black, his eye patch snug on his face, his lips contorted in a sort of smirking scowl. It was definitely true then; the asset had failed his mission, and Nick Fury was very much alive. A woman stood just behind him and to the left, similar in appearance only in that her eyes were just as cold as his. Raising an eyebrow at their hastily formed trio, the man shot a significant look at the young woman in the center of the ring.

"Discretion really isn't your forte, is it?" he remarked, the facetious undertone obvious even to his ears. Spying her out the corner of his eye, Barnes could see that she'd picked up on it too, given the way she was biting her lip and spreading the arm that wasn't holding onto her bag out.

"I thought I did okay, considering," she replied.

The focus now shifted to the ex-assassin, the older man's gaze boring a hole through him. "You brought him."

As clear as it was that he'd known ahead of time of their arrival, it was doubly clear that the presence of the third person of the party was not expected, and most certainly wasn't welcome. Bucky felt an upsurge of emotion as he observed Holly planting her feet solidly, maintaining eye contact with the angered countenance before her despite the sudden tremor surfacing in her hands. "Yes, sir."

A minute passed, counted by the beats of his heart. Their fates stood upon the precipice, on the brink, and where it would fall was anyone's guess. Like her, he looked at the other fellow, watching his hands shift from being crossed over his chest to his hips, his gaze taking them all in and considering the options. Sam leaned back onto his other leg, appearing nonchalant but actually putting him in league with his companions. Noting the change in posture, something must have been concluded in Fury's brain. Turning to look at the female hovering at his elbow, he flicked a few fingers between her and Holly, gesturing for her to do as he pronounced.

"...Hill, escort Miss Martin to the deck," he said, commands issued as easily as if he were born to do so. Tipping his chin up at the other sergeant, he continued, "Wilson, you're free to go. And you..."

An index finger extended, leaving no doubt in Bucky's mind that he expected him to understand and follow the next demand.

"You're coming with me."

Given that his options were few, and the ones that he could claim were not of the best quality, he could nothing other than assent, much as that annoyed him. For her part, Holly stalled in her steps, eyebrows quirking together in confusion and worry. What Fury would do to him, she obviously didn't know, and it was clear that she did not want to abandon him then.

"But—" she tried to protest, but the other woman's hand gently curled around the crook of her elbow, pulling her away from the ring. She canted her head back towards another entrance, the pressure of her fingers enough to persuade Holly to move her feet.

"Holly, come on," she murmured, and after a couple of unsure glances at them all, the younger woman did as was requested. The ring of people, operatives (if he had to guess, and his gut told him he wasn't wrong) stepped closer, entrapping him. As they closed ranks, Fury took it upon himself to lead the way, the stomp of feet behind him lost in the wind. Expecting to for his erstwhile compatriot to bound off after the girl, Bucky was instead surprised to find Sam still at his side, keeping pace. Halting, Fury furrowed his brow at the younger man, jaw working for a moment before speaking again.

"I said you were free to go."

"I know," Wilson returned, the calmness of his voice compounding the serious glint in his gaze. Nodding towards Bucky, he continued, "I'm freely going with him."

For a moment or two, Fury stared him down, his composure threatening to break as he raised his eyebrow at the pair of sergeants. Out the corner of his eye, Bucky watched as Wilson met the gaze squarely, refusing to be deterred. Finally, the director shook his head minutely, pivoting on his heel and leading the way off the tarmac. The ring of agents tightened around them, shuffling closely as the two men made to follow him. The rush and howl of the wind died away once they stepped through the vestibule on the far side. The labyrinth of halls twisted and turned, lackluster gray with grating and florescent lighting interspersed along the way. Tense and irritated, Bucky lifted his hood back over his head, bowing it to keep his profile obscured. Still, his eyes darted to the people surrounding him, taking note of any visible weaknesses amongst them. Not many were to be found, but he thought that if it came down to it, he would be able to break free of them without much trouble. For his part, Wilson paced a half step behind him, to the right. Smart move, keeping him in his sights and staying on his less-empowered side. The ex-assassin gave him marks for that. Down a flight of stairs, Fury led them all to the end of anther hallway, a plain black door situated on the left. With no more than a glance and a nod, the ring of guards melted away, tromping back to their posts. A generated keypad flared to life outside the door, and Fury hurriedly tapped in a code. A whir and click, and then the door slid open seamlessly. Stepping through, he didn't bother looking back, knowing the other two would come in after him.

The room within was spacious, a wide office with a bank of computer screens taking up the entire back wall. In between, black leather couches faced one another, dark blue carpeting on the floor. A massive desk was positioned at the opposite end, glass panels overlooking the command center. It was a bustling hive of activity, continuing oblivious to the new onlookers above. Noting the environment, Bucky stepped towards the glass, examining the people below. The one called Hill was situated at the end of a long table, a tablet in hand and a finger gesturing to it, Holly at her side, nervously glancing around and nodding in answer to a question the other woman asked.

Ignoring the windowed wall, Fury made his way over to the couches, Wilson a few paces behind. Another man was sitting there, outfitted in the uniform shirt and trousers of his branch of the military. His eyes passed between the three men, a dark brow quirking slightly as Fury waved a hand back towards the younger sergeant.

"Colonel Rhodes, you remember Master Sergeant Wilson," he said by way of introduction. The other fellow rose from his seat, canting his head slightly as Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, it was a few days ago, could have had other things to think about in the interim," he reasoned, the humorous crinkles at the corners of his eyes standing out. Bucky observed silently as the colonel smirked.

"Or something," he muttered, offering a hand to Wilson and shaking it. "Hey there, Sam."

The brown gaze lessened in warmth as it connected with the icy blue one staring back, the grim line of the other man's mouth making his good humor fade.

"And you are?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips. Hesitation came, and Fury donned a placid and blank expression when he darted a glance at him. Swallowing, Bucky took a step forward, pushing his hood back off and stiffening his spine.

"I'm...James Barnes," he replied carefully, the name, his name, still foreign to his own ears. The colonel audibly scoffed, rolling his eyes at the statement. However, Bucky could have sworn he saw something akin to befuddlement blooming in his irises. That, and belated recognition.

"You're kidding, right?" Not waiting for a response, he jerked his head back around towards Fury, directing his next statement to him. "Didn't realize you were enlisting impersonators now."

"Nope, only the genuine article seems to make its way here," the other man corrected him, adjusting his leather jacket to sit evenly on his body. The confusion on Rhodes' face tripled, his brow screwing up as he digested the implication. A hand gestured out towards the ex-assassin, and Fury went on with the introductions. "Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th Infantry Regiment, this is Colonel James Rhodes of the United States Air Force."

Off the thunderstruck expression now gracing the colonel, Bucky was torn between shifting warily under his gaze or outright laughing at him. He was, as ever, of two minds of the decision, and so decided on a third option.

Respectfully, vaguely recalling the protocol that was drilled into his brain so many years ago, his dipped his chin and greeted Rhodes. "Sir."

Rhodes' mouth fluttered open and closed for a few seconds, before he swiped a hand over his face and exhaled sharply.

"The Howling Commando Bucky Barnes...and he's alive?" he wondered, rubbing a finger against his temple. He sank back, and it was some time before he could even address the sight before him, speak upon it. Bucky could sympathize a little with his bewilderment; there were days he couldn't believe who he was himself. "Okay...there has to be an explanation for this."

"There is, but it's...complicated," the director replied, pointedly trailing the last word of his sentence. Bucky felt a flare of agitation, anxiety, shoot through him. Complicated barely covered it, he knew that much.

Wilson barely suppressed the snort that flew out of him, evidently of the same mind as him. "Were all SHIELD agents trained in the art of understatement, or is it a gift you all have?"

Fury's sideways glance was loaded, the burn in the gaze enough to make Wilson shut his mouth and back off for the moment. The older man gestured for the colonel to sit, flicking his fingers back at Bucky to take the floor with him.

Slowly, haltingly, Bucky strode forward, knowing he was under the full scrutiny of those two men. He did not fear them, but he did not know what to make of the situation, and that was disquieting. In short quiet bursts, he tried to explain the whole mess that had been his life, what little he could remember of it. A frozen river, the Soviet tongue reverberating in his ears as they pulled him out of the water. A small man, beady eyes behind the glasses, his choppy English warping him. Flashes of torture, of loss, ripped through him, and he visibly shuddered at it. Shying away from that, he confessed his rebirth, his time spent as neither man nor machine, but instead the combination of both, the asset desperately needed to perpetuate the evil of the world, one of a long line of assassins kept under the thumb of HYDRA. The deaths of many on his hands, the blood still dripping from them, made him curl the fingers of his cybernetic hand, drawing the colonel's attention to it while he spoke. His tone was cold, clinical, something he could remove himself from verbally. In his soul, though, he felt the pain, the anguish that he caused, even if it was too many years late to do so. It was the price of waking up, of rediscovering his identity. Idly, he wondered if the captain had known that would happen, if perhaps this was his subtle way of seeking revenge upon him. But, as he had done several times before, he brushed off the notion: what he could remember of Steve Rogers, he knew that he wouldn't be interested in a long game of pain. Not with him, at least.

Stony silence followed, in which Fury filled it with his own view of events when he had surfaced over a year ago. It did not paint in a better light, but it did allow every avenue to be considered. Barnes had been made into a ruthless, murderous machine, but his course had been altered, altered enough to the point that he considered coming to them. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Barnes said no more upon the subject, his choices of hiding, of tracking the friend he could barely remember, of choosing to be a guardian and breaking HYDRA just as they'd broken him, remaining locked away. His motivations were his own, and he did not wish to share them.

By the end of the long speeches he'd endured, Rhodes was no more relaxed. In fact, he was practically vibrating with rage and incredulity. The rumors of the Winter Soldier, which had long been dismissed over the last fifty years, were indeed true. Some of the best men and women had fallen victim to the asset, the very man standing before him. Deep down, Bucky could understand the feeling. He felt the same way about the situation; he was supposed to have been this great guy, a good soldier, and he had become a monster. Control was irrelevant; the facts remained as they were, and he liked them no better than anyone else.

Truthfully, he probably hated himself more than the others ever could.

"And you're okay with this?" Rhodes finally choked out, gesturing wildly between Fury and the ex-assassin. His movement encompassed the room, indicating the entirety of the helicarrier and the other man's presence. "How can you be okay with this?!"

Fury jabbed a finger at him, authority in his tone. "I never said I was, Rhodes. This was literally dropped into my lap twenty minutes ago. Where we go from here is still to be determined."

Bucky blinked at that, hands clenching into fists again. Wilson, who had been leaning against the paneled wall behind him, leaned forward, his own brow furrowing as Barnes opened his mouth.

"What?"

Attention turned back to him, the director let his scathing eye wander over his form. He was formidable, Bucky could concede that much, even though he forced himself to keep his reactions minimal.

"I'm not giving free hand-outs to people who attempted to assassinate me," Fury pointed out bluntly. "You want this to happen, you've gotta prove that you do."

His head tipped toward Wilson, and at the window beyond, the shine of the light above glinting off his head.

"You might come with some decent endorsements, and that kid managed to get you on-board, but none of that will stop me from kicking you off of it, if I have to."

Mulishly, Bucky set his jaw, teeth grinding together in muted anger even as he acknowledged the truth Fury had almost literally spat in his face. How could he prove that being here was necessary? How could he prove that he did not want to be what he once was? Without Rogers there to back him up, without even the girl's own stolid brand of support, he did not know what he could do or say to make his case. It wouldn't be beneficial to point out that every other person in that room had been a killer, too, and it was the case with approximately eighty percent of the old agents and operatives on-board. No one was innocent, and he knew damn well that he wasn't. But with the deck so stacked against him already, what could he honestly say?

Sam, letting his arms hang loose at his sides, came up beside him then. His dark eyes took stock of the brittle hold he had on his temper, on the confounded expression taking over his features. The feeling of being under examination returned, but Bucky endured it, a sprout of curiosity blooming as Wilson watched him.

"Look, man. I get it, okay? I know what you're trying to do," the other sergeant said, his tone calm and even. He shrugged his shoulders, blowing a sharp breath out his nose before he spoke up again. "But the fact of the matter is, is that you were a killing machine for the wrong side. Granted, it wasn't your choice, but you still did it. Some people aren't going comfortable with that, no matter if brainwashing was involved or not."

Bucky kept his head down, but his jaw clenched even tighter and his eyes closed. Wilson scratched the back of his neck, thinking hard about how to proceed. This went beyond counseling and rehabilitation; it definitely wasn't in his job description to attempt forging bridges between a resurrected organization and the assassin that had been sent to shut it down in the past. The longer he looked at Bucky, though, stood in his presence, he got the sense that his perceptions, even the ones built off the guy's returns over the last several months, weren't entirely correct. Nor were they entirely wrong.

His shoulders hunched, musing silently to himself that he had probably bitten off more than he could chew, joining up with this crew. And well, if he were being honest, he was probably bringing it on himself. Still, with the wall of hostility bearing down upon him, and knowing full well that not one of them did not at least have a little blood on their hands, someone had to show mercy. Well, mercy to a point, anyway.

"I'm definitely not, mainly because you actively tried to kill me, too. But..." He trailed off, noticing that Barnes had relaxed his jaw, that his gaze had become riveted to the floor, to the boots on his feet. "That's not who you are anymore, is it?"

A minute or two passed in which the other man did not answer. The ripple of emotion tripped over his face so quickly it was nearly unnoticeable. However, it had gone through him, ripping into him as he pondered what Sam had said, about the quiet confidence in his tone. Blue eyes raised from the spot they were trained on, circling from one occupant to the next slowly, methodically.

"...No, it's not," he nearly whispered, clearing his throat a few times to get the strength back. "You're right: it's not okay, and you shouldn't trust me. It would be stupid if you did. Thing is, I'm just...me. I'm not the Winter Soldier, and who I was before that, I don't know if I can ever be that again. If I had known what had happened, what they were going to do to me...force me to do...I would have...I can't, though."

His spine straightened, his shoulders squared, and he faced all of them, the inner turmoil set aside as he concentrated upon his main point, the driving force of his actions.

"But I want to try, to see what I can do. Whether any of you like it or not, I am here. I don't expect this to erase any of the past, but I am going to do what I can to make this operation succeed." A facetious dip of the chin towards the director came, with Bucky purposefully thinning his lips to keep his face stony. "With or without your permission, sir."

Rhodes, glimpsing the impassive facade of his fellow colonel, pressed forward. "Why?"

Barnes faltered in his speech, the look on his face cracking as he considered the question. A streak of something, of a darkness deep within him, flew over his irises.

"Because...I need to." It was simple as he could make his answer, and it had to suffice. And in a voice so low that nobody in the room was confident that they had heard his next words, he mumbled, "I owe him."

Captain Rogers had saved his life, which was more than he rightly deserved. He had saved him, held out hope for him...continued to be his friend, even after the enforced absences and evil atrocities he committed. He could do no less, not when he was given so much in return.

 _'That's what friends do,'_ a voice at the back of his mind whispered, the one that held no pain, no sorrow. _'To the end of the line, like you promised.'_

Once again, Bucky Barnes could feel his fate hanging in the balance, the shifty gazes around him registering on and off as he slid in and out of his own musings. Colonel Rhodes stared at him for a long time, the glare in parts horrified and grotesquely fascinated. Fury was a harder read, but the longer he went without ordering him to be dumped off the carrier, the more secure Barnes felt. Eventually, the colonel rose to his feet, brushing down his trousers before crossing his arms over his chest.

"...Fine, then," he stated, acquiescence rolling so smoothly over him that Barnes blinked at the stunning turnaround. Cupping a palm up in the air, the colonel told him, "For the sake of simplicity, you can call me Rhodes. Or War Machine, if monikers are more your thing."

Barnes inclined his head, something in his chest loosening. "...Bucky is what I answer to, more often than not."

"I've heard," the other man noted wryly. He shook his head, pacing away from the couch and getting closer to Bucky. "This doesn't change anything. I don't trust you, with my life or anyone else's. But I suppose your track record is good for one thing: you get the job done. I'll trust that."

A wince decorated the ex-assassin's face at that. "Sometimes."

The colonel shrugged it off. "And if any of us wind up mysteriously dead, you know you're going to be the prime suspect."

The wince turned into a halfhearted scowl. "I'm aware."

Looking at him once more, Rhodes gave Fury a mock salute, two fingers touching his temple before he exited the room. The older man let him go without a word, but the hard, boring gaze was back on Barnes, driving home his point if his words could not do so.

"He's right. This is going to be your only opportunity, Barnes. You botch this, in any way, and I promise you that not even Rogers will be able to protect you," he vowed darkly. This man would keep his word, Bucky knew instinctively, from the unrelenting grip of his eyes and the solidness of his voice. "You got one good shot at me and mine; I will not let you get away with that again. You understand?"

"Yes," Bucky said, meeting the intensity of the gaze fully. Another second or two of their eyes locking, and Fury shifted back to the other sergeant, motioning for both of them to leave the office.

"Good. You go with Wilson, he'll get you to the techs, see if we can't get you outfitted well enough before we get out there."

Commands given, the two fellows inclined their heads at him before doing as they were told. That time, they were moving freely, without a ring of guards dogging their steps. To be sure, the agents passing by in the halls and standing at posts gave them sidelong glances, but their muted comments were ignored, and none of them blocked their path or approached them. As they descended down another flight of stairs, Bucky swallowed, pausing in his journey long enough to make Sam stop. Off his curious glance, he tipped his hand back the way they'd come.

"Thanks, for..." he said, his halting speech indicative of how little he used the phrase. It had been some time since he had any reason to be thankful to another person, and to be honest, he did not expect Wilson to be the recipient of his next one. Though Rogers certainly was willing to assist him, he knew the other man was reticent, his removal from the situation far enough to examine him with a more critical eye. Sam had no reason to like him, trust him, or stick up for him, but...he'd tried, anyway.

Sam dropped his gaze to the floor for a second or two, his dark eyes sweeping up again as his face turned stony.

"Didn't really do anything, and to be frank, I'm kinda with them on this. Kind of," he confessed, his emphasis noticeable. He blinked, sniffing once as they stood in the silence that followed. "When this is over, I'll reassess accordingly."

He turned on his heel, the ringing of his boots on the metal grating summoning his new companion to keep pace.

"You have a chance," he murmured in a hushed tone as Barnes quickened his step. "Don't waste it."

A rueful roll of the eyes, and the corners of the mouth lifting were so unlike the man he knew that Sam was almost stopped again. That had to be pure Bucky Barnes shining through, the grim layer and broken facade letting him seep out little by little.

"I've got no reason to do that," the other man told him, matching his stride as he led the way to the armory.

* * *

 **A/N:**...And now we have Sam. :)

I thought it was a gross oversight not to include Sam in assisting with the Battle of Sokovia in the movie, even if he makes the claim that avenging is Steve's thing. I would think he would have a vested interest in keeping his friend and his world alive if he could. So...I'm including him, too (or, rather, Maria is). And Barnes had to make his case to be included at all; like I said, I want him to have a chance. Granted, nobody really trusts him at the moment, but they are willing to give him one shot. It's not like he can get away with toeing the line on this one; they all know him, what he's capable of, and they know that if anything were to go wrong internally, he would be the most likely culprit. But...they give him a shot. Because yes, he may be an infamous assassin, but then again, SHIELD employed many infamous assassins themselves. The only difference was that they were on the "good" side. Look at all that gray smearing the black and white line there...Sorry, I'm getting a little weird there. Anyway...

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references.

We'll get back to the team, and to Holly, soon enough. Hopefully soon; my eleven-day streak of work ends tonight, and I'll have a little more time to get to work. No, I haven't seen Civil War yet. I don't know when I'll honestly have the time to do so; May has always been an incredibly busy month for me, and this year is no different...so please, no spoilers, my friends!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	26. Chapter 26

After confessing the intended destination of the Avengers' last stand with Ultron, the helicarrier's course was altered and Holly was left stranded. Meeting with Maria, they spoke about the headway made on their major inclusions endeavor. Early prognosis of it was actually very good; it had seemed that many companies, from UNICEF to various rebuilding programs, were interested in abetting the team in the future, provided there would be a need for them to do so. That mainly had happened because Maria had been charming and persuading them for months prior to the Ultron events, but still, it was something they were able to draw on now. Certainly, there was some who had flat-out refused to even consider the notion, but to have the amount of support they were building from the outset bode well for the time being. Jane had called back a few hours previously, having already started preliminary hearings for the colleges, the universities intrigued by the concept, but needing proper paperwork before actually getting involved. As the minutes wore on, the carrier cutting smoothly through the sky, the discussion became a three-way call, video feed opened as they pondered the immediate implications of the team's presence overseas.

"There's no way this is going to be a contained fight," Maria murmured, tapping a finger against the file folders set before her. "The people of Sokovia are going to be affected, one way or another. First priority of the team is going to be evacuation, if I know anything about them."

Holly gave a concurrent nod, lips thinning. "If they get there before Ultron spots them, at least."

Turning physically in her chair to face the digital screen propped up on the table, the older brunette nodded to it, a palm out and gesturing for the speaker on the other end to chime in. "Pepper?"

Pepper Potts, already on edge due to her own significant other being involved in the dealings, was not about to stand by and be an idle observer. Not this time; it was hell to have gone through it when Tony took matters into his own hands during the battle of New York, and the public response afterward. Granted, he had formed the Stark Relief Foundation as a way to help the injured and broken find refuge, but it did not work quite as fast as he would like it. As it was, they were mired down with the business in Johannesburg. Privately, the shrewd redhead had taken the initiative, forming a fast-response disaster group that could drop and fly to places, with proper search and rescue training to boot, at a moment's notice (because God knew that, while she loved Tony, he and the team were a walking disaster unit, and could bring it down upon anyone, anytime). She just lacked the excuse to actually put the team in the field.

Well, seemed like as good a time as any to mobilize, she mused, dipping her chin at the screen.

"My R.E.S.C.U.E. team is on the way out," she said, a finger tracing along the screen, forwarding personnel files and an operational schematic to the women on the other end. Tapping into the tablet on her left, Maria retrieved the provided information, digesting it with gusto. "They can start set-up for the displaced, forward the damage assessment to Stark Relief and onto the other companies who will be involved."

"In the meantime, we have some lifeboats on hand that should do the trick," Hill replied, bright eyes skimming over R.E.S.C.U.E.'s credentials. She shrugged her shoulders at her companions, noting their confused, agape faces. "Just in case evac has to be even quicker than your team can be."

Requesting a further explanation, Maria described the lifeboats as bigger, higher-tech versions of the kind to be found on ships, save that they had similar mechanics to the helicarrier. That meant they were incredibly mobile, able to rise and maneuver hundreds of feet through the air if necessary. Mostly, they were made in case of getting out refugees under heavy fire, bringing them out of harm's way and up into the helicarrier without ever grounding the thing.

The CEO raised an eyebrow. "Do you think that will be necessary?"

"I don't know. But I'll be sending out a command for prep, in any case," the second-in-command retorted, fingers sliding over her tablet's screen and doing just that.

"Will you have enough people for quick evac?" Holly wondered curiously. Her gaze flicked out towards the open space of the bridge, empty save for them and a few stray agents moving from one computer bank to another, low voices echoing in the air.

"We have some," Hill muttered, not able to refute the physical lack of operatives aboard. She blinked, raising her palm to her forehead as if to press down a pain that had cropped up there. Holly wouldn't blame her if she actually did have a headache; she was in deep with some many different tasks and projects, it was a wonder that Maria's head hadn't exploded yet. "Not everybody answered Fury's call, unfortunately. Every person not already assigned a task onboard will have to work search and rescue, if there's a need."

Something in her tone stuck, grabbed Holly's attention. Narrowing her dark eyes, she bluntly asked, "Everyone?"

Unwaveringly, the other woman met her gaze, head inclining. "Yes."

The full implications hit her then, leaving her mute as Maria wrapped up the call with Pepper, promising to provide her with more details as they came. The silence that encased her was deep, her whirl of thoughts pulling her so far away from reality that it took fingers jabbing her shoulder hard and a couple of whistles to draw her out of it. Snapping back into the present, Holly turned her ashen face towards her compatriot, swallowing hard against a dry throat.

"You know, when Fury told me that the team would need people to count on, I didn't expect this," she breathed, struggling to keep it together. It was wrong, she thought, to draft her into the cause. Not because she didn't think she could do anything, but because she was an inadequate choice. Fury had worked with the best of the best, including the best evacuation teams. What good would she be to any of them if she was out there? Amidst her surge of panic, she did not notice Maria's expression soften, or her palm applying gentle pressure to her shoulder.

She did, however, listen when the other woman spoke again.

"Hey, come on now. You can do more than you give yourself credit for. It's not like we're asking you to be in the front lines; that would really be irresponsible," she pointed out, all of what she said valid to her mind. She'd worked with Holly for a few days, had kept an eye on her per Fury's request months ago. It was true; she was no field agent and never would be, truly. Frankly, the idea of Holly Martin going into training at this stage of her life was unnerving to her, to say the least. But she knew when somebody was selling themselves short, and it was something Holly was doing then. It was something she did often, and she honestly did not like that. Tapping her arm, she continued, "But you said you wanted to help, to do what you could. This, you can probably do. Maybe."

A weak snicker came out of her companion, but at least it was better than cold disbelief. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Leaving it at that, the two women went back to their separate labors for several minutes longer, until Hill blew out a sharp breath and motioned for Holly's attention.

"It's getting really late. This stuff will keep; we're at least six hours out, and we'll be two hours behind them as it is," she stated carefully, gathering her folders and setting her tablet atop them, bundling them under her arm. "Gotta get some rest while we can."

A dismissal, plain and simple. Holly knew that much, and with a sigh she shuffled her laptop back into her bag, shouldering it and cupping the air with her free hand.

"Okay...and where can I do that, exactly?" she asked, blinking tiredly. In short order, Maria marched her through the halls, to a sort of tram built along the upper floors designed to take those on board quickly to the living quarters in the rear of the carrier. They stopped upon the first floor, a stretch of rooms bordering either side of the hallway. Nameplates were screwed into some doors, others were unmarked, but Hill led her without hesitance to the third door on the left, "S. Rogers" stamped in the metal and facing out like it had three years ago when it had first been made. Again, the utter confidence exhibited by Director Fury, even down to the last detail, surprised Holly. Confidence and arrogance. To it, though, she merely raised her eyebrows before watching her compatriot type in a six-digit code at the access panel (741918, which she thought was highly unoriginal once the number registered in her mind) and let the door slide open with a whisper. The main area was small, a bed wedged into one corner with a small bench at the foot, a chest of drawers along the wall, and a single chair off to the side. Spartan, but serviceable; it was better than sleeping on the floor, or at the table in the control room. Noting what appeared to be a door to a private lavatory to the right, she breathed her thanks as Maria left her to it, the other woman's jaw clenching tight on a yawn of her own before departing. The tight, little room would definitely serve, though she had no idea how good of a sleep she would get, hurdling headlong into danger as she was.

' _Hope Sam and Bucky are doing alright,_ ' she thought, biting her lip and half turning towards the door again. _'I should go find them…but…'_

She had no earthly clue where on the vessel either man was, or even if they were awake any longer. Just as Bucky had taken responsibility for her safety, she felt a form of it for him, now that she'd dragged him into the mire. Trouble was, she wasn't certain he would want to see her, anyway. Maybe he was one of those people who needed to be alone before a major occurrence went down. Again, it wasn't like she knew him very well. And even if she did, like she knew Sam, it would be incredibly hard to locate them, given that she had not paid attention to her surroundings upon coming aboard, save to gawk at the advanced computer banks on the bridge and the sheer size of the carrier in general. It would be better to stay put, she figured, pulling Clint's earpiece out of her ear and tucking it into her jeans pocket (no way was she going to rest with that in). She'd get some sleep, and then make an ass out of herself looking for them.

Holly dropped the bag from her shoulder onto the bench, crawling onto the uncomfortable bed that she knew would be too narrow for Steve, let alone for both of them to share, when he came back.

 _'If he comes back,'_ the darkness at the back of her mind mused darkly. _'If we survive this, both of us. If neither of us ends up dead.'_

She shut her eyes fiercely, a creeping tear running across her face and over her nose as she curled in on herself, arms wrapping around her waist as a poor substitute for his embrace. It felt like years since she'd had any real time with him, and not the few days that it actually was. Not now, not now, she chastised herself as she rolled to face the wall, her exhausted mind and body shutting down for sleep. The memory of the last kiss shared between them, hard and passionate, surfaced just before she was drawn into dreams, none of which she could remember when she woke again.

 **xXxXxXx**

Morning had come, another day, but no real sunlight could reach her down in her solitude. In the shadows, she waited. The light of the weak lamp that had thrust through the bars at her hours ago illuminated her face, her cell, but not much else. The erstwhile factory, the experimental rooms that had smelted what seemed to be hundreds of robots, as well as a long metal shell, were quiet. Ultron, after adapting to his new body and smelting his sentries to do the same, had long since disappeared. Evidently her signal, off the grid and too weak for him to trace despite the fact that it had happened no less than five feet away from him, had been received. Natasha, knowing the odds were stacking against her teammates, still had smirked when she heard the rumbled cry to move out. She knew they were coming.

Maybe they'd be able to take down the bastard before things got out of hand. Personal experience told her how foolish and unlikely that scenario would be, but she forced herself to look on the brighter side. What bothered her most was the helpless situation Ultron had put her in. Granted, she was able to call out, but she was no more in a position to escape than she had been hours ago, and it grated on her. It infuriated her, being reduced to watching and waiting, to see if someone, anyone came looking for her. She wouldn't do it, personally; she'd want to finish the job before she attended to the casualties. A part of her felt the crawl of worthlessness dragging up her spine, her mind viciously beating it back down. She was not worthless, she was not helpless, and she was just...stalled. Yes, stalled, she asserted to herself, her bright eyes darting over the empty space beyond the bars. As if she were a damsel locked up in a medieval dungeon.

 _Дерьмо_ , she hated thinking of herself that way. It was so against everything that she was, that she was trained to be, that it made her sick to even contemplate it. Well, there was not much she could do for it; she had to conserve whatever weapons Ultron had not deprived her of for when she did finally escape, and she could not risk exposure. Now, though, that she was alone, she could consider her options.

With no key and the lock welded shut, she didn't have many. Sitting back down, she drummed her fingers over her knees, calming herself and leveling out her breathing, like Bruce did during his morning meditations. In and out, in and out...clearing the mind...in and out...

A shuffle of dirt and stone, thudding, and then—

"Natasha!" a faint cry reached her ears, the familiar voice causing her to jump to her feet and peer out across the open space.

"Bruce," she replied tentatively, wary of it being some sort of trick to get her hopes up. However, it turned out to be nothing of the sort, and her heart swelled at the sight of the scientist as he rounded the corner. His curly hair was dusted with dirt, his hooded sweatshirt oversized and his boots borrowed, but he appeared to be in one piece. The relief at seeing him flooded through her, even as she jokingly asked if he managed to find a key to free her. The seriousness of his face caught her as he raised some sort of gun—a HYDRA piece left behind from their raid all those days ago—and fired it at the lock of her cage. Helping him shift the bar until she could squeeze out, she brushed herself off, determined not to look worse for the wear despite being captured and imprisoned for over twelve hours. The rest of the team was above, first priority being to get the people of Novi Grad out. Asking about her part in the operations, Bruce merely shook his head at her questions.

"We're getting out of here. Away from the fight," he confessed, dropping the weapon to the ground and coming closer.

That pulled her up short, made her brow furrow in confusion. "But, the mission...it's not done."

The rueful look he shot her went straight to her heart, the honesty reverberating into her. "There's too much at stake, having the Other Guy running around. We've...we've both done our share, anyway."

Unbeknownst even to her, the ghost of a smile crept over her lips, her bright eyes reflecting her cautious emotions in the low light.

"We have to find our own way, now?" she queried, thinking back on their time in the farmhouse, back when she'd first broached the idea of them finding a place in the world for themselves, just the two of them. No team, no missions, just Bruce and Natasha. Was this their chance? Was he ready to give it a chance? Bruce's dark eyes flashed, the memory streaking across his irises as she pressed closer to him.

He did not answer her, just took her hand in his grip, leading the way back out of the tunnels he'd found to get to her. He couldn't answer her, because it wasn't as simple as all that. The dream, the one they'd stumbled upon at the farmhouse, was just that: a fantasy. For hours, he'd stewed over it, over indulging in it and doing just as she'd suggested. They could run, drop off the grid, find some place to be themselves, with each other. But...

But, deep down, he knew it was not possible. It could never be, and he would not condemn her to a life on the run just because she had feelings for him. Nor could he do it simply because he had feelings for her, too. That's all they were, feelings. Feelings did not equate love, did not equal happiness, and for something that was not tried and true, one should not give up their lives for such things. In his heart, he understood that much. Attraction was one thing, devotion another. And he knew for a fact that she was not devoted to him. He would not let her become so; it would be the loss of her, in one way or another. And he would tell her the truth, after...after.

First though, he needed to get her out of there. Because Bruce did have feelings for her, and so he would not rest until she was far away from the looming destruction on the horizon.

Far beyond the tunnels, out in the open, crisp morning air, another soul was watching for the arrival of destruction. The team, according to the plan set down by Rogers, had been hard at work for over an hour guiding the civilians of Novi Grad out of their homes, evacuation routes heavily clogged as they attempted to get to safety, wherever that was. On the northern points, closest to the old stronghold, were Hawkeye and the Maximoff girl, pushing the people there to go south, to stay out of the mountains and head for the bridges over the river. The male twin, moving like quicksilver, was everywhere at once, spurring people onward and guiding people across. The cap had taken residence at the bridges themselves, darting from one to the next, speaking with police officers as best he could to better organize and direct traffic. And for his part, Tony was circling the city, an eye out for the automaton that had caused the morning chaos, the dawn of fear. Their android, dubbed the Vision for simplicity's sake, was higher up, poised and waiting for the right time to intercede. A small verbal command issued forth allowed his boosters to go to half power as he wound around the buildings, his repulsors saving as much energy as possible for the coming confrontation.

A chime echoed over his earpiece, his heads-up display flashing red.

"What's up, JJ?" Tony asked, calling to the new AI he'd implanted into his operational systems. Long ago, he'd made back-ups of different ones in the off-chance that JARVIS would become deactivated, or too buggy to be allowed to have digital control over his life and company. He'd considered the ones he'd had one hand, a JOCASTA, the one called FRIDAY, but feeling pulled by the nostalgia that he refused to think had any sway over him, he settled on the one simply titled, "JJ." The vocal patterns were similar to JARVIS, but the accent was a little blunter, and the algorithms of its processes matched that bluntness. Its voice soothed something in him that ached for the loss and removal of what he considered to be one of his oldest friends, but the new guy wasn't so bad.

"Sensors have picked up on a digital and mechanical presence surfacing in the church," JJ intoned. "I anticipate it's Ultron, and most likely it's an ambush."

Tony snorted to himself. "Figures. Well, I can't just fly around and leave him hanging, can I?"

"Very hospitable of you to approach him, sir," JJ remarked, the dryness in his tone rivaling his predecessor's. It had Tony reeling for a second or two. "Might I suggest a psychological reevaluation in the near future?"

The billionaire focused beyond the display, out the viewfinder as he angled the suit to head for the church at the center of town.

"If the world doesn't end, pencil me in for next Tuesday, JJ."

If there was any sort of function that allowed his AI to laugh, he reckoned JJ would have done so. "Fair enough."

Touching down upon the outer steps, Tony warily clomped into the sacred space, the domed roof cracked and letting in light as the morning sun began to rise and shine. The carved throne at the center of the room was empty, and so he glanced around, trying to spot the automaton in the darkness.

"You did come. I knew you would," a low, baritone hiss came from the shadows, crawling over his skin as he heard it. Pivoting on his heel, Stark squared his shoulders, not prepared to give the monstrosity he'd created any quarter.

"Did you honestly expect anything different?" he wondered sarcastically, knowing full well that he was digitally summoned for the meeting and not for the banter. Whirs and clanks from behind drew his attention, and when he turned to face it, he was forced to look up. Whatever the original purpose of the stolen vibranium, Ultron had made good use of it for himself. Glowing red eyes beamed from the sockets, the favored horns lining the jaw area gleaming. Over eight feet tall, built broadly, the vibrations of the metal tread against the stone floor brought the captain's shield to mind as he approached. Wisecracks aside (and he had a few good ones, which appeared to have been utterly wasted as the automaton didn't even bother with a comeback), a nervous lurch dropped his stomach as the massive figure approached the throne. All at once, the wooden seat exploded, splinters rocketing away as a spire shot up. As it locked itself into place, JJ immediately went about a scan. The functionality of the thing was woefully unclear, but he would continue running options in regards to the reformed vibranium.

Ultron, pulling himself to his full height, allowed himself a forced, tight smile. "The time of the flesh is over. And I'm so pleased to see you bear witness to it, Tony."

The honking horns, the man-made disruption of the day was broken, horrified screams and shrieks intermingling in the air. Distant clanks of metal on rock, of far-away repulsors and firepower cracked across the sky. The abject terror that had come to the land was rising, and Tony had no choice but to answer the fearful call. Blasting back into the sky, he watched as hundreds of Ultron's sentries broke through the streets, blasting through buildings and scaling the rocks from the river to go after the trapped people. Zooming past the captain, who had severed the arm of one sentry with his shield, he fired his repulsors at an outcropping just beyond, blasting and breaking the metal soldiers there. A streak of violet and gold crossed overhead, heading directly for the church. The Vision was brought down, ready to face the creature that had been responsible for his initial construction, but could end up being his destruction.

"JJ, tap into the Vision's drives, and monitor his progress with Ultron," he commanded quickly, violently spinning midair to shake off a sentry that had clasped him by the legs. As it detached, he shot a short blast at its head, knocking it out of the way for the time being. The minutes ticked by, with more sentries taking the place of their fallen comrades, and finally JJ had some decent news to report. The Vision had gotten into Ultron's "head", shutting down his access to the Internet and other digital communicative formats. He was, slowly but surely, prizing away his control, keeping him locked to the grid he was currently attached to. There would be no chance for him to make a high-speed getaway. Tony felt his lips stretch into an honest-to-God grin at the resounding relief. It spread over him, through him, encouraging him to fly faster and attack with vigor.

And then, it happened. The earth began to crack and crumble, the streets of Novi Grad almost pulsating as cobblestones separated. The ground was moving, as though an earthquake had spontaneously triggered the tremors. Flying out, he watched as the bridges to freedom snapped in half, the showers of dirt raining down onto the people below as the center of the city began to lift away. Dread flooded through him, his throat drying as he stared on.

"Oh God...JJ?" he asked, his voice a thin thread. To his ears, even the AI sounded frightened at the turns of events.

"...Sokovia is ascending, Mister Stark."

 **xXxXxXx**

A muted alarm pierced through the haze of sleep, forcing Holly to rise up off the bunk she occupied. Swinging her legs over the side, she glanced at the digital clock set up beside the bed in the quarters; she'd gotten in five solid hours. It would have to do, given that she could not afford to give anymore. She might sleep through the end of the world…couldn't have that, could she?

Getting to her feet, she padded across the room, the appearance of a box jutting out from the far wall pulling her up short. It appeared to be a delivery box of sorts, opened from outside the quarters to deposit whatever was needed to be left for the occupant to pick up later. Essentially, it was a popped-out chute, a big mail drop. Inquisitive, she opened the top, eyes widening at the contents. A food packet had been dropped, beneath it a bundle of clothes. A note from Maria was attached, telling her to eat and gear up as quickly as possible. Taking the command, she went about to do just that.

Holly had finished with what was possibly the coldest and quickest shower of her life, changing in rapid succession and binding her hair back when a text message cropped up on her phone. Knowing full well that she was in an international data zone by that point, she could not honestly bring herself to care. It was Sam, asking her for her location and to get back to him as swiftly as she could. It was identical to one he'd sent a few hours previously, but she had been dead to the world and unable to answer. Quickly, her fingers worked over the onscreen keyboard, informing him that she was in the captain's quarters and could stop by any time.

Fingers trembling as she clipped her belt into place, she heard several light thumps against the automatic door several minutes later. Swallowing hard, she attempted to fix her face and don a placid expression when she pushed the button to the left, opening the door. Sam was there, decked out in his full Falcon regalia: wing pack strapped tightly down, dark body armor and boots laced over his feet, some hand guns and knives attached to holsters at his waist. He was a slate and black menace, ready for attack. His goggles had been pushed up onto his forehead, and he gave her a tight grin as he stepped into the room. A cursory glance told him that even valuable assets like Rogers did not major any better rooming conditions than they had; if anything, Wilson's quarters had only been about half a foot smaller. Shuffling to one side, he let his companion file in after him. Holly's eyes were drawn to the other arrival, widening as she stared and tilted her head.

"What?" Bucky asked, uncomfortable with the look she was giving him. It was…shocked interest, if he had to guess, and he wasn't sure he liked it all that much.

Holly shook her head automatically, flicking her gaze up to his hairline and lifting a corner of her mouth. "...Nice haircut."

Bucky's hand, the human one, slid into the cropped locks, tousling it a bit as he went. It was shorter than it had been over the past year, the sides buzzed down and the top swept to one side. The stray strands brushed above his eyebrows before he pressed them away, off his forehead. The similarity to his wartime photos was striking, or so he had been told, though obviously this was hardly a military cut. Either way, it had been done, cropped by an agent who had had some experience and did as Fury requested when he asked for it.

"Thanks," he murmured, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. The ice that normally resided in his blue eyes had receded, the barest glimmer of a smirk crossing his lips. "Whatever we're riding into, I don't need hair blocking my vision."

Glancing at the rest of his array—black Kevlar jacket and vest, the arm cut away to allow his cybernetic one full mobility, black pants harnessed with handguns and knives galore—she did not deign to point out that she thought the length of his hair would not matter in the slightest. He'd still probably be able to cut down whatever came into his path half blind, and do so efficiently. What appeared to be a high-powered rifle was slung across his back as well; the operatives in charge of weapons distribution had to have heard about his propensity for sharpshooting. Steve himself had boasted about what a crack shot Bucky had been in the day, and even when he was outright attacking them as the Winter Soldier, the skill had not dissipated. Dully, she nodded, crossing her arms and leaning against the far wall of the cramped quarters. Staring at the toe of her boot, she did not see Sam's eyes sweeping over her as well, taking stock of her new attire.

"Well, that's different," he remarked, the straps of his pack shifting as he gestured towards her. Looking down, she merely shrugged at the navy-colored clothes. The belt pack was tight around her waist, almost too small; while the spare boots she was given were a size too big. It was all found on short notice, the uniform look of SHIELD not looking well on her, in her opinion.

"Not sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but I'll take it, either way," she muttered, a touch of self-deprecation in her tone. She looked like a lackey, a SHIELD lackey, and she didn't like it. The only good parts about it were the gloves and the specialized weapon that Maria had passed on to her.

The new tool of the trade clipped to her belt seemed inconspicuous, until she pressed the button on the knob. It extended and interlocked, becoming very much like the baseball bat that she favored for a defensive weapon. Clicking a different button on the handle, bright lines shot up the barrel, the cap at the end becoming electrified. It was something the boys in the lab had been working on for awhile, and Maria had figured she take it for the first test run. As she'd gave it a few practice swings in private, Holly wondered if she would be able to smuggle it off-board when the time came. She might be able to get rid of the taser if she could keep it; it performed double duty, and she rather enjoyed that.

Sam and Bucky exchanged a glance as she tapped a finger along the belt.

"You're not gonna..." Wilson trailed off, gesturing superfluously with his free hand. Coming aboard the helicarrier was one thing, but to be outfitted as she was then, with some gear strapped to her to boot, he was beginning to draw an unpleasant conclusion as to what she'd be doing.

Holly tipped her head towards the bench behind them; the reflective orange vest seated there the last piece of the ensemble. "Strictly evac, and search and rescue. But if things get dicey, then..."

Her palm lay over the collapsible bat, her shoulder lifting.

"It's not a good idea," he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

A snort ripped out of her then, her eyes rolling. "If they weren't so short-staffed around here, there would probably be no way they'd let me go."

Sam exhaled sharply, and finally aired the truth that they were all avoiding. "Steve's gonna freak."

Holly had nothing to say to that; she knew exactly how much Steve would hate the idea of her being anywhere near harm. Keeping her safe was at the top of his list, and she was circumventing it willingly. Granted, only because Fury and Hill had requested more aid, but she still was going to put herself out there.

"...Yep," she finally concurred, the pale cast to her face tinging slightly. Her fingers flew up to tighten her short pony tail, just so she could keep them occupied as her mind raced and heart thumped. "I'm banking on him being too occupied with fighting to notice the incredibly stupid stuff I'll be doing."

Bucky's eyebrows twitched together, a frown forming on his lips, and the deadpan look Sam sported spoke volumes. "Because, you know, he isn't a details guy at all."

"Thanks for maintaining the illusion," she snarked back at him. Her stomach churned harder, and a harsh flush crawled up her neck as sweat popped up on her brow. A fist clenched over her belly and she moaned, "Oh, God...not again..."

James darted a worried glance over her. "Something wrong?"

"Just...oh." She cut herself off, a hand flying over her mouth and her feet propelling her forward on their own accord. The short dash to the compact lavatory seemed to be miles long, but soon enough she'd wrenched the door open, fell to her knees and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl before her. It was the second it had happened, and she was no more happier about than the first time. As she did so, she could not will herself to care that Sam and James stood just in the other room, the heaving rocking her body and the bile burning her throat as it came up. Consequently, she was a little stunned to register the gentle palm settling between her shoulder blades, a soothing pressure as she finished puking. Sniffing hard and swiping away the water in her eyes, she peered behind her, Sam's liquid brown gaze ringed with sympathy.

"Sorry," she apologized, getting back to her feet after she felt confident enough that she could contain herself. Meandering over to the sink, she rinsed out her mouth as Sam just shook his head.

"It happens." Off the skeptical look she shot him, he raised a hand up, genuine feeling in his eyes. "No, really. You should've seen me on some of the nights during my tours."

Her humorless chuckle grated even on her ears. "You had training to face this kind of stuff."

Valid point, he could concede that much, but that wasn't the whole truth of the matter.

"Training doesn't get rid of fear," he iterated quietly, leaning against the opened door, his focus drawn to something no one else could see. "It just enables you to face it a different way than you normally would."

Taking out her toothbrush again, she scrubbed hard at her teeth and tongue as she let his words sink in. Soon enough, she spit out the paste, rinsing her mouth out once more. Turning the faucet to cold, she splashed some water on her face, gripping the bowl of the sink tightly. Darting her gaze to the small mirror, she looked her friend fully in the eye, holding nothing back.

"Are you scared, Sam?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. Because she was afraid. Truth be told, she was damn near terrified, legitimately so. Waiting for his answer, she saw the resoluteness enter his expression, the lines of his face hardening.

"Yes," he told her honestly. "Every single person on this boat is. Some more than others."

From further back in the room, the figure in black shuffled forward, a nod of commiseration making his chin dip. Eyebrows flying up, she pivoted to really look at the two men.

"Right," Bucky chimed in then, concentrating hard on the toe of his boot, thumbs hooking into his belt. Whether or not they acknowledged it was their choice, but the fear was there. Fears for so many things—for what could or couldn't be, what may or may not happen, if they would live or if they would die—lived beneath the surface for everyone there, not just her. She would not be alone; not even James could claim to be free of it. Carefully, gently Holly reached out and threw an arm around Sam's shoulders, hugging him for a moment before moving on to Bucky. Knowing he would be incredibly skittish about that sort of thing, she settled for reaching out, squeezing his human shoulder gently and inclining her head toward him. For better or worse, at least they were around. No matter the fear, she knew she wasn't alone in it.

Fetching her orange vest, she slid it on over her uniform and was just fishing Clint's borrowed com-link out of her abandoned jeans when she noticed it blinking. The blue light must have meant something, and as she flashed a questioning look back at her companions, she tucked it back into her ear. Tapping into the open channel (Maria had handed hers over to the tech guys, just to make all of Stark's pieces compatible with theirs and connect them easily) Fury's stern voice came over the line.

"Wilson, Barnes, Martin...report to the bridge, now," he commanded harshly. The trio flicked glances at one another before booking it out of the quarters and down the hall to the tram. The ride up to the bridge was anxiety-ridden, heavy with the cloud of the unknown hanging about them. The other operatives were already bustling about, some shouting down the halls in specific codes that Holly had no understanding of. Bursting out onto the bridge, she wasn't surprised to find Rhodey there, his grim façade standing out and his suit on stand-by. He was with Fury and Maria, staring down at a digital console at the center of the bridge. Taking point, Sam led the way over to them, Holly in the middle and Bucky bringing up the rear.

"What's going on?" he asked, getting right to the point.

The director gave a sharp huff, gesturing to the screen before him. "Turns out simple evac will no longer be simple."

It was the broadcast of a news feed, foreign in language, but the picture onscreen said more than words ever could. The city of Novi Grad, Sokovia had split at the very seams, buildings tumbling and bridges snapping as the tremors of the ground shook the camera. Screams of shock and horror were picked up by the microphone, loud and unyielding as it started to, to…

Holly's jaw dropped, a numbness invading her system as she stared. "Is...is that..."

Maria's jaw clenched harder, and Rhodey merely canted his head in incredulity. The recruited agents at the computer banks had accessed the feed as well, stunned silence muting them as they watched the city, its people, and somewhere in all of it the Avengers rose up into the sky.

"The city is flying," Fury murmured darkly, tapping at his set-up and sending out an alert. "Plans have changed."

* * *

 **A/N:** The Battle of Sokovia has started…and hoo boy, is it gonna be fun…fun for me, anyway.

Yep, Holly's going to help get people on the lifeboats…and she is terrified about it. But, hey, at least she's got people to rely on despite being scared to the point of vomiting. And yes, I changed FRIDAY to JJ. The new AI Tony put into his system in the movie was just…too bland for my tastes. I couldn't wrap my head around the actress' voice, and so, well, I changed it. I think Tony responds better to caustic wit and snark, and thus JJ will at least have some of that. Guess who I have in mind as the voice of JJ. Hint: he was often mistaken as the voice of JARVIS, until people realized it was Paul Bettany playing him. Another hint: he is the Watson to RDJ's Holmes.

…Jude Law. JJ is Jude Law, in my mind.

The one word that Natasha thinks in Russian translates to "shit." I'd be cursing up a storm mentally, if I'd gotten captured by Ultron. Also, a nod to Pepper Pots and R.E.S.C.U.E. (her alter ego in the comics).

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any mentioned pop culture references.

One last thing: I posted another fun, sexy one-shot over on my AO3, entitled _On Leave._ Feel free to check it out; I have the same username there as I do here.

Anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

 **EDIT:** I have posted my long, ranty reasoning behind why I ultimately chose to deviate from canon, and not follow the _Civil War_ storyline for the future, in an entry of my Livejournal. It is under the name phantomproducer, and is the entry entitled, "Part Five: In Which I Provide An Explanation for My Actions." If you would like to read that and understand why I chose to go the way I have, feel free to check it out. I did originally have an explanation posted here, but I have moved it there because I did not think it fair to have it upping my word count and making it seem like I had more story in this chapter than I had. Please, take a read, if you would like.


	27. Chapter 27

From almost the moment of his creation, from the discovery of his true purpose, Ultron had dreamed of that day. Not literally, mind you; an automaton could not have dreams. But he did know exactly what he wanted, and the Avengers had given him that.

Those foolish, impudent humans took over and over again, breaking the world and lives as easily as they breathed, and the ragtag team assigned to protecting the world were no better than their compatriots. One could argue worse: they were meant to be a standard, and yet they had to be among the most selfish and backward people he'd been exposed to. However, he had learned that they were the rule, and not the exception. The humans would break the world, and so he had to break them.

Turning the dial had been simple, deceptively so. If they had surrendered their ridiculous pursuit, let him actually achieve the peace they sought and sacrificed themselves for the greater good, none of it would have happened. Instead, they fought tooth and nail to render him inert, destroy him and make him abandon his mission. In his mind, the Avengers did not want peace, not truly; they were looking for an excuse to mold the world to be what they wanted, and not what it needed to be. They wanted him under their thumb, and he would not have that. Not now, not ever. Not even the Maximoffs were exempt from his rage; they had eventually turned tail, their allegiance falling away from his like leaves from a tree, too frightened to accept his claims as truth and reverting to the state of denial they had been living in. His dream, his vision, had been hindered at every term, and when they took his own flesh from him, turned it against him, he knew that there would be no quarter given.

The metal had to inherit the earth, and the flesh would have to melt into dust. Hovering in the sky, Ultron watched as the city began to climb higher and higher, the altitude not affecting him in the slightest as he rose with it. Linking his voice to his sentries, he made sure that there was one nearby for every Avenger to hear, to understand how little they had achieved and how horrible everything had turned out due to their interference. His spire, charged and magnetic, pushed upward, beautiful and terrible in the early morning light. With the barest flick of a nod, he commanded his sentries forward, resuming attack and accepting no surrender. None of them would be allowed to get in his way, ever again.

 **xXxXxXx**

Since she had never been in a true battle before, Wanda could not say for certain whether it was going well or not. Despite her abilities, despite her brother's talent and promise, neither of them were seasoned warriors. She did not have the aptitude to judge.

However, what she thought and what she felt were two different things. And she felt as if they were on a downward slide into madness. It was horribly wrong, all of it, and the people who were put in the line of fire between Ultron and his opponents would suffer.

Her auras were bent and wielded, much like the captain's shield, to protect the citizens of Novi Grad, guarding them from the forward attack as they ran. But it wasn't a perfected gesture, and a stray shot to her side sent her spinning and crashing fast to the ground. Her forehead bounced off the cobblestones, a new cut marring the skin and blood trickling out of it. No matter, she had thought, pushing herself back onto her feet. She could still function, she could still fight.

As the grappling wore on, though, Wanda felt her resolve buckle. In the midst of trying to protect her neighbors and friends, she was leaving the archer, Hawkeye, to lead the assaults. She was leaving herself open: open to attack, open to the emotions running rampant around, open to the darkness that threatened to drown and swamp her. More and more robots flowed from the earth, from the sky, and she started to feel overwhelmed by it all. Trapped between vehicles, she could not scrabble away or draw up enough power to fend off the attackers. An arrow sank in between the shoulder plating of one, the detonator pinging to signal eventual explosion. Grabbing her around the waist, the archer snatched her up, pulling her into a run. Forcing her to jump with him, both man and woman planted their feet solidly on a trashed car, shoving themselves through the jagged and broken glass of a nearby window. They tumbled into safety just as the arrowhead went off, the robot's body bouncing off the outer walls of the house they'd jumped into.

It was too much, it was all too much...all her fault, all her fault. She had caused this destruction, she had brought her people to ruin...

"Hey, hey, hey," Barton called to her, helping her shift to a far wall for cover. He tapped her shoulder, then her chin, pulling her out of her mind. His bright eyes bore into hers, the intensity of his gaze blocking out the darkness and the shadows. Quietly, he brushed off her murmurings, her doubts. Perhaps it was her fault that any of it was happening; she wasn't the only one. He knew that much, knew that everyone was capable of making mistakes. The important thing was to realize it, and to move forward. The burn in his soul imprinted on her mind, a past that was littered with horror and death, his own mind surrendered to the whims of another and manipulated into doing awful things. But underneath that, he was immovable, a rock in the face of the danger around them. He could face the mistakes and the danger, because it was his job. There was little time to be devoted to watching over her in her plight, and defending the people who truly needed it. Still, he pointed out that despite the ludicrousness of the situation, it was up to them to make it right. If she no longer felt up to the task, that was her choice. She could stay safe, and he would send Pietro to her.

"But if you go out there, you have to give it your all, and fight to the bitter end. Because it doesn't matter who or what you are, or whatever you did in the past. What matters is now—what you do now, how you act now. Because you are an Avenger now, and that's how it's gotta be."

Shuddering breaths wracked her body as she digested his words, too dumbfounded to speak. The wisdom and verity of his speech were not lost on her, underscored as they were by his mutters ("City's flying...bow and arrow against robots, and the _city_ is _flying_..."). It resonated deep within her as he kicked open the doors, rejoining the fray and nocking a string full of arrows. As he aimed, clouds rolled overhead, the light dimming as the wooden portals closed him off from her, left her alone in the shadows. Arms curled around her knees as she tried to catch her breath, her mind moving too fast.

 _'It does not matter. It does not,'_ Wanda thought, the clanks and clatter of arrows meeting metal scorching through the air outside. She wrung her palms in her lap, eyes scanning the wall across from her, the pinpoints of daylight spearing through the dark as she continued to think furiously. In the end, her desires had brought about the very thing she wished to avoid: the further destruction of her home, of her people. Her own hubris and her wish for revenge upon a single man was going to be paid for by Sokovia, by the world. But only if she did not atone, only if she sat there and did nothing. The archer's words intermingled with the ones she'd heard only hours before, the android's smooth voice speaking of pain and sorrow rolling over the earth, and not one of them being able to prevent it without aid. She could stay in that little broken house, a little broken Wanda waiting for her brother to help her. She needed him...and he needed her, too. They all did. A surge of courage burned through her then, forcing her onto her feet. Her fingers twisted, her breathing becoming harsh and ragged as she pivoted, facing the doors. _'What matters is that I put it to rights. What matters is that we fix this. Not alone. Together. We can do this.'_

Pushing hard against the heavy oaken doors, a burst of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating her as she stepped back into the desolate street. Auras ringed her hands, eyes turning full scarlet as she spied several hovering drones before her. Lifting her chin, she extended her arm to the side, blasting through one of the robots that had attempted to sneak up on her.

 _'I can do this.'_

Drawing her deep well of strength and will, she cast her hexes, the witch that HYDRA wanted her to be forming into the Avenger she had become. The machines were ripped apart one by one, the bright red auras pulling them and severing them as she turned, her hands splayed and her teeth gritted. Barton rose from his crouch behind a nearby car, his expression neutral as he nocked another arrow, its flight straight and true as he accompanied her assault. Sucking in a deep breath, she swung down, pulling up a dark hex from the very ground, the metallic, wiry sound rending the air as she disposed of the final three.

 **xXxXxXx**

The wave of robots that swarmed the bridge had been great, but Steve had stepped up to the challenge. After being smashed into more cars (his back screaming at him for yet again going through a windshield that way) and off the sides of buildings, he retaliated with the full force of his strength and skill. His shield flew, rebounded and returned to him with perfect ease and timing. As Thor entered the fray, the pair of them worked to thin the herd, giving the civilians there a chance to dart and hide away from the fighting. Fire erupted as a strike from the god caused a gasoline tank to explode, frying the sentries too close to it. The captain pivoted and swung, his fists connecting hard with the vibranium, sending jarring sensations up his arms, but he kept at it. Minutes passed as the others came to his aid, the concentration on the bridge becoming too strong for him and the god to keep facing it alone.

Natasha danced in and out between her attackers, batons lit and slamming hard into the sentries who dared challenge her. The Hulk, whom Steve did not expect to see, rampaged down a side street chasing away a pack of robots from a crowd of startled citizens near the market. Both of them had appeared almost out of thin air (which, according to the Black Widow, was close to the mark; after the Other Guy showed up, he'd launched them both up into the city) but as the fighting wore on, he was grateful they did not choose to stay away. Mjolnir soared and crashed, drawing out Ultron's attention to the point that the automaton flew into the fight. Granted, it was for the sole purpose of dragging Thor out of it, but it couldn't be helped. The god could manage, Steve was certain of that.

Long, difficult minutes went by, the flow of robots finally ebbing and stopping as the city kept climbing into the sky. When the last machine had its head severed (the Maximoff kids were on their game, it seemed), the pops of fires burning and the wind rustling over the debris met his ears. It was quiet again, far too quiet for comfort. Recognizing the silence for what it was, he directed the remaining team members to get any stranded civilians under cover.

"We don't have a lot of time before more come," Steve murmured, tapping back into the comm-link channel. Helping another family shuffle under the safety of an office building, he asked, "Stark, you figure anything out yet?"

A discontented, worrying grunt echoed in his ear, accompanied by a drawn-out sigh.

"I did, but it's not looking good," he intoned quietly. In a tone filled with hopelessness, he conveyed the news that the rate at which the city was rising was increasing impact radius. The anti-gravity thrusters propelling it up were rigged to flip at a moment's notice; JJ had remarked that the odds of the city coming down easily or safely were astronomical. Thor's power with electricity could crack the vibranium spire, but it would take capping the other end to keep the atomic action from doubling back. Rogers felt his heart sink at the implications, his facade remaining grim as Tony continued, "If we blow up the city, that will stop everything. Thor and I could do it, once you guys are out of the way."

The captain frowned then. There had to be another way, one that would not cost the Sokovians more lives. Stark, for one, could not summon up the will to snap at him or otherwise snark. That was the true sign of the horror of the situation, and it made him sick to think about it.

"Our options are limited. There might not be another way," the billionaire responded sadly, silence punctuating his proclamation. Leaving the office building, Steve tripped back to the street, eyes scanning for more of sentries, as if he would find a solution out in the ruined streets. Clouds rolled up and over the city, shrouding it in a gray mist. Inhaling deeply, he tried to bend his mind, tried to think of a plan in the quiet. A presence surfaced beside him, dirt being brushed from the sleeves of her dark jumpsuit. Natasha shook her head, tipping it back to the crowds of people hiding.

"Everyone's stuck up here, Steve. I doubt we can change that," she said, and he heard the plea in her voice, the one that wanted him to see reason. Reason from her point of view, that was. But she knew him better than that, she had to, after all that time. There was no way he would sacrifice the citizens trapped up there just for their sake. They deserved better, they deserved life, and he said as much. His friend raised an eyebrow, her mouth turning down at the corners. "You would risk the earth for a few people? How can you think that's a good idea?"

Steve pulled himself to his full height, unyielding. "They deserve a chance as much as everyone else does. And I won't leave until they get it."

As much as it pained him to say it, as much as it physically hurt to express his wish, he knew in his heart that it was the right decision. Nobody else should have to pay the price for their error, for Ultron's wishes. And he also knew that with every second passing, he would either condemn a few or condemn all to a fate nobody had thought possible a few days ago.

"I didn't realize that _us_ leaving was even an option," Natasha replied, the look in her eyes holding a weary resign. She did know him, knew his train of thought, and followed it to a logical conclusion. They did not have to abandon their charges. If they died, so could the team. Shrugging a shoulder, she sighed, "In comparison, this would be a better way to die than in some ways I probably deserve."

Perhaps she was right, but the sick slide of his stomach told Steve how little he liked the idea. He wanted the best scenario, but he also understood how unlikely such a thing would be. If Stark couldn't find another solution, it would have to be that way. The people, and the team, would be lost to the world. He would be lost, a price he was willing to pay, but he could not stop himself from considering the pain he was going to cause the ones he left behind. He could do it, but...he didn't want them to suffer. Didn't want _her_ to suffer, no matter how many times Holly had asserted they understood the dire situations his work put him in, and him as well. Panic ripped through his heart, his lips thinning and the corners of his eyes crinkling in muted despair as he followed her gaze out. The city had broken through the cloud cover, the blue sky vivid and bright against the stark whiteness. The beauty of it impacted on his mind, the sight something he would carry with him to the end of his days. Even in a time of terrible tragedy, one could find beauty.

With a wry smirk, Natasha murmured, "It is gorgeous up here, in its own way. Won't find that view on a postcard."

A crackle and shift came over the comm-links, a new voice causing both man and woman to stiffen awe.

"I won't deny that, kid. Still, it seems to be missing a little something." Nick Fury's tone, one part ballsy confidence to two parts firmness, called out to them, bringing them out of their desperation and back to breathless hope.

Wisps of clouds scattered, flurries of white bleeding away as radio spires and a gray deck cut through them. Watching in wonder, the captain stared as a helicarrier, perhaps even the very one the team had first assembled upon, surfaced beside the city, its rotors spinning fast to keep up with ascendancy of the rock. The last remaining vestiges of SHIELD had been resurrected, arriving in the hour of need at just the right moment. The captain snickered silently to himself; Fury did promise to do something dramatic in the coming days, and he had more than delivered, at least. Steve exhaled, something akin to relief spreading through his veins as the sides of the carrier opened, vessels approaching to land and attach to the city. Understanding that they were the lifeboats assigned to each carrier, the captain gave out the order for the team to help assist the people of Sokovia onto them, their chances of survival rocketing up.

 **xXxXxXx**

Even with the turnaround, it was too much to expect that the arrival of the helicarrier would go unremarked. As Fury turned from one screen to the next, tapping his fingers as he drew up schematics, an alarm whined on the console to his right. Maria opened the alert, her face placid as she reported to him.

"Incoming hostiles approaching our three o'clock, sir."

The smirk the director sported made his eye glint in cold delight, in spite of the gravity of the announcement.

"Take 'em out," he told her, standing tall and linking his hands behind his back as his second-in-command unleashed their outer defenses.

"You are clear to go, boys."

The three men waiting in their positions rogered the call, and sprang into action. Rhodey, his War Machine armor molding around him, blasted out of the hold, circling through the air as his repulsors lit up the sky. The crack of his mounted gun pierced the air as Sam and Bucky burst out a side hatch and began to run down the tarmac of the helicarrier. Several of the airborne sentries swooped down towards them, glowing red eyes staring them down. Not allowing himself to acknowledge the strangeness of fighting mechanical creatures instead of people, Bucky withdrew one of his sidearms, peppering the air before him with shots as Sam activated his pack. Slicing up into the air, he spun around those hovering above them, a gun and knife in hand as he shot one and sliced through the neck wires of another. Barnes' cybernetic arm triggered impulses in his brain, letting him know of approaching danger to his left. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a stunner disk (much like the ones used against him by the Black Widow all those months ago, but with a higher velocity and therefore more kick), shoving it between the plating of the robot who attempted to flank him. Frying its circuits, Bucky shifted his gazed away from the creature, focusing on the other who had joined Rhodes in the sky. Its armor was red and gold, striking with as much ferocity as the other. As they proceeded to blast the robots out of the air, Sam and Bucky worked back to back, spinning and shifting through their metal opponents on the deck. Soon enough, the sentries that had dared attack the helicarrier were in ruins around them, with Barnes replacing his weapons and his would-be partner calling in for more instructions

"Alright, you two, get onto the city. Need you to do some street clean-up," Fury's voice crackled over the comm-links in their ears. Brown eyes connected with blue, both of them glancing at the floating rock beyond them. Shifting his gaze to Sam's wings, he tipped his head to the side silently. Sam's answering nod came moments later. Immediately Bucky dashed off, building up momentum as Wilson flew right behind him. The edge of the deck came closer and closer, and at the last second, he pushed off the ground, hands extending up.

Instead of air, his fingers met with solidity, grips digging tightly into the Falcon's arms just as he caught him. The extra weight made them dip, stomachs dropping as the two men waited for the wings to adjust. Aloft after a moment or two, they sped through the sky towards the city, a new crop of automatons landing and making a line for the lifeboats. The other Avengers not in the sky were repelling the new arrivals as best they could, driving them as far away as possible so the evacuation teams could complete their sweeps. Once they safely crossed over the edge, Wilson darted over to a clear patch of ground, debris minimal so that Barnes' landing wouldn't be filled with shattered glass and nails wedging into his feet. Touching ground beside him, they both took a moment to catch their breath after the risk midair move.

"Jesus, you're like a freakin' lead weight," the other man groused, flexing his arms to relieve the residual pressure and pull on his muscles. Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Man up, _сука мальчик_ ," he retorted. Sam, with a glare narrowing his gaze, was about to retaliate, when several bots altered their course towards them. Withdrawing their weapons once more, they entered the fray, spinning, weaving, and dodging through their opponents. Oil splashed and stained like blood in the dirt, on their face, but neither man cared. Slowly but surely, they began to edge closer to the team. The shifty redhead had started employing what looked to be electrified batons, stunning and breaking the robots around her, the archer close at hand with detonator arrowheads embedding into their foes. A girl with auburn hair was twisting and shifting her hands, holding a robot in place with a strange red mist as something blue and white and... _fast_...slammed it into the ground, reforming into a young guy with silver hair and sharp eyes. A roar in the distance, a flash of green, caught the gaze, great hulking mass jumping from building to building to subdue any attacks from above. As some slipped by, Wilson took to the air, catching the onslaught with bullets. He touched down just beside the captain, his banded shield raised to block the shattered pieces from falling onto him. Twisting his blond head around, he gaped at the new arrivals, his brow creasing in confusion and shock.

"Sam?" he croaked over the comm-link line, the familiarity of his voice easing something deep inside the would-be assassin as he made his way over. Catching his movement, blue eyes boggled; Steve had quite forgotten where he was for the moment. His erstwhile best friend...he'd come there, he came to help...

The barest glimmer of a smirk decorated Barnes' lips, the deep layers of sorrow and regret lessening to some degree as they looked upon one another. Dipping his chin once, Bucky launched himself back into the fight, knowing it was not the right time to discuss his arrival.

"Bucky?!" Steve shouted, still baffled, taking a few steps closer to him. A streak of silver glanced out the corner of his eye and suddenly he was forced to roll to one side, flipping up in time to catch the creature's jaw with the edge of the shield. At that moment, he was reeling, but trying to refocus. He didn't know if he could handle more surprises that day.

"Rogers!" the Black Widow shouted, darts from her wrist braces flying over his head to the robot sneaking up behind him. Automatically he turned, slamming first his fist into the creature, and then his shield, splitting its neck in twain. Inclining his head in thanks towards her, he resumed his place towards the center of the ring, Sam at his side, and Bucky at his back for the first time in seventy years.

 **xXxXxXx**

As Holly feared, being part of the evacuation and rescue team was no sinecure.

Due to her lack of experience, the director assigned an agent to help her along. She'd figured it would be some hardened, behemoth of an agent that would be sent to do the job, but to her surprise, it was someone quite different. A young woman, of similar height but thinner build, flagged her down in the docking bay, shouting over the blaring lights that she was the one she was looking for. What was really shocking about her was the mop of bright blue hair framing her face, her black, almond-shaped eyes glimmering with merriment as Holly caught herself staring. Not regulation, she admitted, but then again, she wasn't required to conform to regulations with SHIELD for over a year and wasn't about to now that they'd coming crawling out of the woodwork. Introduced as Kay ("My first name, so hold off on the _Men in Black_ jokes," she warned lightly), she made it her task to run down the duties they would be performing. Kay had a talent in the agency for extraction, one of the agents usually sent to retrieve a stranded one or their "packages" if they were in dire need. Experience with getting people out of sticky situations was what she thrived on, and SHIELD was more than willing to have her be a part of the team. Less people dead that way, less rounds of hiring, she figured.

In the case of Novi Grad, she would be focusing on the initial first wave of civilians, getting them strapped in and on-board as quickly as possible. A gunner was posted at each boat for security purposes, each one grim faced at the prospect of surging waves of robots coming after them. There was no telling when the enemy would show up again, and with the city rising ever-higher, there was no guarantee that it wouldn't drop prematurely. They had to be prepared to hustle everyone onto the boats and take off at a moment's notice. The swiftness of the plan made Holly's stomach turn into knots, which were compounded by the sway and dip of the craft as it left the helicarrier's hold.

Though terrifying, a part of her had to admit the view was breathtaking. As in she literally could not breathe for a few moments once she realized exactly how high up they were, and how close to the end they were all hovering. Harnessed into a seat next to Kay, she tightened her fists so hard, she was sure that if she weren't wearing gloves, she would've had permanent nail marks embedded into her palms.

The team had rounded up civilians in buildings all over the decrepit city, waiting for the lifeboats to land safely. Their pilot docked their boat close to a broken bridge, wrecked cars and rebar poking through the concrete. Afraid the ground would buckle under their landing, Holly let the barest sigh of relief out once they settled firmly into place. Immediately, Kay was on her feet, almost pulling Holly along as they dashed out. Right away, they were met with dozens of scrambling Sokovians, desperate to find safety and get away from the hell they had been enduring. Lost in the pell-mell of the crowd, she could only spot flashes of the team, Nat's black suit blending as she bustled a family onto another boat, the bob of silver and auburn as Pietro persuaded a couple of kids out from a sheltered outcropping. The streak of color Holly was truly keeping an eye out for—one of red, white, and blue—was too far away, a distant figure hovering at the edges as he directed people out of the nearby buildings. Over the comm-links, she heard Steve bark a command to the Avengers, telling them to move away from the boats as a new wave of robots were descending nearby. Soon enough, only the recruited SHIELD search and rescue people were bringing the people to safety, interrupted only by a streak of gray and black cutting through the sky.

"While they continue loading up, we've got to do sweeps," Kay shouted over the wind after several minutes, trotting down the ramp again. The terrain of the city was rocky and stilted, which had Holly stumbling slightly as she followed. Her new handler raised an eyebrow, a corner of her mouth lifting as she corrected her footing. "Think you can handle that?"

Holly heaved out a short breath, canting her head. "We'll see, won't we?"

At once, Kay's expression lost its mirth, all business in her tone. "Stick with me, on my heels at all times."

A thumb hooked up in the air, her face reflecting the agent's tone. "Got it."

Groups of agents from the other boats were doing the same, tramping around to the nearby buildings to ensure that no one was left behind. Trying their hardest to overlook the already deceased (Holly was averting her eyes and actively choking back gags), they made their way further in to the interior, leaping over walls and watching out for any stray creatures who were looking for easy targets. Kay led the way, a handheld scanner programmed to sweep for organic lifeforms in hand, consulting it as Holly brought up the rear.

"Scan's picking up something in that building over there," she announced suddenly, drawing the brunette up short. Pointing, she indicated a partially collapsed apartment building. The tenement looked pockmarked, sections of wall and window missing from the floors above and the sheet glass walls of the lobby blown apart. Holly merely hoped that whoever was in there would not be trapped too high up. Crawling after Kay through one of the casings, a high-pitched whine cut through the air. Both women looked to one another, dread climbing up their throats. "Oh, no."

The crying picked up as they approached, treading warily into the broken building. At the far back, sparks shot off irregularly due to severed wires breaking through the concrete and beams. Furniture was scattered and disassembled, the elevators to the side blown apart. In what used to be the center of the lobby area, it appeared the the floor above had given way, crashing through the ceiling, slats and beams intermixing with concrete and tile. Calling out a careful hello, the two women heard a harrowing whimper respond several feet away, from beneath the wreckage. Peering down, Holly gasped at the sight: a kid, a little girl no older than her niece Jodie, was trapped underneath it. Hustling over quickly, Kay tapped through the scanner again, changing the setting to reveal if the child had been pierced through by the metal or otherwise injured. For her part, Holly got down on her hands and knees, crawling towards the crying girl, noting the horrified expression on the kid's face. A few cuts on her face, her dark hair matted down and her little eyes darting in fear, but otherwise she appeared to be okay. Physically, at least—Kay announced the truth of that assessment soon afterward; the crossbeams above had entrapped her, but they hadn't broken her.

"Hey, hey. Don't worry, we've got you," Holly murmured, trying to keep her voice calm. Off the girl's frightened glance, she felt a wave of uncertainty hit her. Did she understand what she was saying? She could at least ask. "Can you speak English?"

The dusty, dark head bobbed as much as it could in the lack of space. The pained, light voice that came out of her was heavily accented and heartbreaking. "Little. Help me?"

Relief flowing through her at being understood, Holly immediately nodded, keeping eye contact with the girl as Kay crouched down beside her. "Yeah, we're here to help you. What's your name?"

Dust and break shifted, both women sucking in gasps as it pressed down harder atop the young one. The child let out a terrified shriek, but once the shifting materials settled, she grew quiet. Her harsh, hard breaths blew up the dust around her as she pressed her face down for a moment. Her fingers splayed out, gripping hard against the snapped wood beneath them. When Holly reiterated her question, she looked back up, tears in her eyes.

"...Dasha."

Pointing first to herself and then to her companion, Holly kept her tone as even as she could.

"I'm Holly, and this is Kay." Flicking her gaze away at the concrete and fire blocks crumbling around them, she exhaled harshly out her nose. "Okay, Dasha, just hang on, we're gonna get you out." To Kay, she inclined her head towards the main support that was holding the little girl in place, keeping her from fleeing to safety. "We've gotta get the beam up."

"Alright, I'll start—oh, shit!" Kay shouted, hand immediately scrabbling for her pistol. Whipping her head up, Holly barely had enough time to get to her feet. Three robots had broken off from the pack, intent on destroying any living being in the area. Fear froze Holly, Kay's screams sounding distant to her ears. Gunshots rattled through the air, pinging off the sentries' heads, the snap of their necks turning towards the agent forcing Holly back into reality. Removing her weapon, she elongated and electrified the bat, catching one of them in the middle before ramming the sparking cap at its torso. The second charged at Kay, one clawed hand reaching for her throat. She caught it by the wrist, twisting away and smashing a foot against its side. As it buckled under the counter-attack, the third raised its palms, repulsors glowing and warming up for a blast. Eyes widening, Holly cracked the creature closest to her once more before executing a clumsy dodge, rolling and dropping her bat as she went. A yell in the distance echoed across the space, the rapid patter of feet following. Blue and white mist zipped by her, brash crashes and clanks against the metal attackers dropping them in pieces mere seconds later. Jumping back up onto her feet, she noticed Kay was still holding onto the arm of the robot that had come after her, the rest of it scattered in parts at her feet, and Pietro Maximoff standing amidst the chaos, looking askance at the two women. Confusion lit up his face as he looked from one to the other, eyebrows inclining as he recognized Holly.

"Too close," Kay mumbled, bending at the waist and forcing herself to control her breathing. As she looked down, Pietro's brow furrowed in concern, wondering silently whether they were okay. Holly gave him a clipped nod, hoping her expression and accompanying hand gesture successfully conveyed her sentiment of _please-don't-tell-my-fiancé-about-this_ as well as appreciation. An eyebrow inclined at that, but he said nothing.

"Thank you," she muttered aloud to him, his quick nod and even swifter departure leaving the space around them suddenly hollow. Kicking the metal pieces out of the way, she turned her attention back to Dasha, whose cries of terror had melted upon seeing the women defending themselves, and upon seeing the creatures that had destroyed her home being ripped apart with alacrity. Stunned, she was absolutely stunned by what she'd witnessed, and Holly honestly didn't blame her for it. It was still shocking to her, deep down. Kay, holstering her gun and swiping a strand of hair out of her face, stepped up to the crossbeam that held back the majority of the destruction of the ceiling above from crushing Dasha. Inhaling sharply, she dropped down, gripping the steel beam in her hands, jerking her head for Holly to come close again.

"I'll lift it up, you pull her out."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. Even with proper weight training, there was no way she could lift all that up on her own, without something to act as a lever. What she was proposing to do should not have been physically possible for her. Brown eyes narrowed as suspicion bloomed.

"There's no way. How can you—"

The glare Kay shot her was not filled with malice, but rather with what looked to be uncertainty, and a form of fear beneath it. Given that she was employed as a SHIELD agent in the past, and was supposed to be good at concealing emotions, Holly knew that it had been deliberate on her part to let her see that much. And more to that, she wasn't backing down from her position. It was something she knew she could do. She had met the incredulity and the doubt before, and was prepared to face it again.

"Later," she promised, glossing over the moment. Though she had a feeling that she was saying it more to get her back on task, Holly had every intention to ask questions when there was a chance. If there was a chance. Pulling her curious glance off of her, she focused back on Dasha, nodding once to her newfound partner as she knelt down in the dust and debris. At that point, the young girl was whimpering again, sputtering in her native tongue at an alarming rate. She feared being moved as much as she feared being crushed, that much was clear, even if her words were lost on Holly.

"Dasha, sweetie, it's gonna be alright," Holly cut through her frantic mutterings, gentling her tone as if she were speaking to her own niece. Waiting until Dasha made eye contact with her again, she let her lips quirk in the faintest approximation of a grin. "We're gonna get you out now, okay?"

Shuffling closer, she extended her arms, motioning for Dasha to do the same. When the small fingers slipped tentatively into her palms, she glanced at Kay, dipping her chin in understanding.

"Grab my hands tight when I tell you to."

Kay blew out a short breath, adjusting her hold on the beam. "On three. One, two..."

With little effort, the other woman lifted, the crunch of metal and concrete the signal to move.

"Now!" Holly cried, the little girl's hands snatching at her. Gripping hard, she groaned as she began to drag her forward, pulling her free after a few long seconds. Once clear of the debris, Kay let it drop back to the ground, grunting as the rubble collapsed into the space vacated by the small child. The poor kid was trembling, her shaking eclipsing Holly's own in that moment. Swallowing, she let the little girl wrap her arms around her middle, patting her back and shaking her head as her heart thumped. "Alright, Dasha, you're safe, I've got you."

Tilting her chin up, she spied Kay brushing the dust off her hands, a grimace coming to her lips as she pulled the scanner back out. It ticked for a few moments, no other sounds echoing off of it. She couldn't help but stare at the slight woman, tucking her bright hair casually behind one ear. There were only a handful of people who had displayed such talent as she did in the world; Holly was engaged to one, and on decent terms with the other two. Something more was going on, but time would not allow her to inquire about it. She would see to it that Kay kept her promise, and explain.

"Any others showing up?" Holly asked instead, mentally preparing herself for a repeat of the last few minutes. Blue hair shifted as Kay replied in the negative, pocketing the device and striding over to them.

"Not here. Let's get her back to the boat."

Nodding, Holly patted Dasha on her shoulder, shifted her weight underneath her. "Can you walk? Or do you need some help?"

The girl swiped away the few tears that had streaked through the dust on her face, wincing as she attempted to move on her own. "Help, please. Leg is..."

"Broken," Kay supplied, noting the injured appendage herself. As soon as the word dropped from her lips, she was scrounging around in the debris, locating two broken legs from the lobby chairs as Holly carefully coaxed the young one to sit on the ground, leaning her back against her chest. Unzipping her outer jacket, the other woman ripped it up into several pieces, placing the chair legs on either side of the appendage and using the strips of material to bind them. Makeshift brace in place, it took some more persuasion (and more tears, Holly's own cropping up and ignored as she tried to cause the little girl no more pain). Carrying her in her arms seemed to be the only way, with Dasha's arms gripping tightly around her neck as she hoisted her off the ground. There had been some debate about who would do the task, but Holly refused to let Kay carry her.

"I'll carry, you cover," she offered in place of the first plan. After all, Kay had more training, and experience, in combat. It made more sense that she should be the line of defense in case more of Ultron's sentries appeared. Conceding the point, the other woman took out her gun again, snatching up the collapsible bat from the ground and gesturing for her to follow close behind. They had a small window of opportunity to make it back unscathed, and they had to take it. Reluctantly, the trio broke their cover, darting along the damaged streets to the nearest lifeboat.

"On my heels," Kay shot over her shoulder, raising the gun and brandishing the bat before her.

"Gotcha," Holly returned, curling her arms tighter around the little girl in her arms, doubly aware of her surroundings and taking special care to keep her footing.

 **xXxXxXx**

Thor, son of Odin, adjusted the grip on his hammer, Mjolnir snug in his hand once more. The Vision had come to his aid at the right moment, propelling back the cursed automaton across the sky, his swing true and his might great. Finding the balance, he felt power surge through him, his stance hardening as he spied the center of the spire, its braces secured in the ground, awaiting a final turn of the handle atop it. In the distance, he could hear the shattering screeches of the robots, his friends' efforts not in vain as they did away with them as they could. Over the comm-link in his ear, he heard Stark give a sudden cry, as though he'd lit upon a revelation. The promise of heat seal, one that could be done from below as Thor electrified it from above, was one that actually gave the man hope. The voice of his new helper floated through the space, the calm accent driven up as it spoke.

"Data is processing, sir..." After a space of a few minutes, in which the sky was beginning to darken, Thor listened as the one called JJ murmured, "That...that could actually work, given you reroute all power to do so."

Staring up to the heavens, he clenched his jaw tightly. No clouds were impeding the sun's light; rather, the glare of what seemed to be a thousand silver bodies ascending into the air blocked it, slowly approaching the city and touching down in odd places. His heart quaked, but he and the Vision beside him stood their ground. Ultron was preparing to do as he promised.

"I've got something, Thor!" Stark told him.

"It's too late," he countered, stepping backward towards the spire. "He's coming for it."

A ripple of sound echoed in his ear, the verbalization of dread and fear crackling.

"Rhodes, Wilson, and...Barnes, keep helping people onto the boats," the captain commanded, voice faltering for the barest of moments. Three different tones signaled their consent, preparing to follow it to the letter. He cleared his throat, his breath becoming heavy as though he had broken into a sprint. "Everyone else, head to the church."

"Let's do this, guys," Tony piled on, the blast of repulsors whining as the metal suit of Iron Man soared into the sacred space. A vehicle's engine roared, an automobile grinding to a halt on the eastern side of the church. The Maximoff girl and Barton spilled out of it, the captain bolting up the steps behind them. The male twin met his sister near the pulpit, grinding to a halt to inquire after her health. Thor sized up his companions, his Midgardian brothers-in-arms, the ground shaking under his feet as the Hulk crashed in through the side wall. All visages were stern, yet obstinate, though the Black Widow's held a modicum of confusion. Curious as to the battle plan, Stark chose to tell her.

Neither Ultron nor his sentries could be allowed one finger on the core's handle. Were he to turn it, the city would drop, and the impact of it upon the earth would be enough to destroy every last person below. They had risen too high for it to fall now. They had to defend it, as the last wave of machines came clattering across the roads, dirt and dust swarming around them in a great cloud.

The god glowered at the automaton army, its leader hovering in the air. He was a mighty warrior. Battle had been his life and heart for ages; war had been his mistress and his domain. In truth, he had he'd faced greater foes than the heartless, soulless creature beyond the church's fencing. And he would defend the earth from ever falling to such a creature. A hand raised, the automaton's mouth stretching into an approximation of a smirk, as his army swept over the broken terrain, thousands of glowing red eyes staring back at him. Their numbers were great, and the creature looked confident in their strength.

To his right, he heard the captain groan under his breath, felt his perturbed gaze slide over him. A guilty glance was all that the god spared his comrade; perhaps it would have been better not to have antagonized the creature by letting the Vision take up the hammer against him. The automaton let a disturbing, thundering chuckle out. The eight-foot-tall monstrosity of a robot powered closer to the ground, staring at them all and sizing them up.

"I could not have asked for more. This is perfect," he crooned, jabbing a few clawed fingers in their direction. "There's no hope that you'll win against me, all of me."

Clearly, he still did not think much of their odds. Thor, for his part, shuffled his fingers along the handle of his hammer, bracing himself for what would come as his crimson cape was ruffled by the wind.

Stark, standing up straight, moved forward, his masked face staring down the abomination of his creating, the demon produced by his soul. The metal suit's head turned to the captain, sharing a nod of commiseration before he looked back at the creature. In his voice, though, Thor detected a hint of pure levity beneath the deadly intent.

"We can, and we will."

Behind them, the Hulk released an unnerving roar, the echoes of his hoarse call the trigger for the army to move forward as one. And as one, the team turned and ringed the spire, determined to meet the challenge head-on.

* * *

 **A/N:** And that's part one of the Battle of Sokovia. Hope it came off alright; I'm trying my best to make the fight scenes interesting. About a day early with this chapter...just got into a writing jag and couldn't stop until it was done.

Points of view were bouncing all over the place for this one, but I hope it was entertaining nonetheless.

By the way, Bucky was calling Sam "bitch boy" in Russian in that one line. Because I can totally see him doing that.

Three guesses as to what's up with Kay...and the first two don't count. ;)

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references ( _Men in Black_ , whaddup?)

No long notes this time(thank goodness, right?); just going to say the plot is moving apace...the next chapter should be fun, too, I think. ;)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	28. Chapter 28

It was a cascade of metal and armor, waves upon waves of sentries relentlessly seeking the core of the spire. Ultron was set upon the destruction of the earth, upon the Avengers failing to meet the challenge, and he was sure that once he forced the issue, they would live down to his expectations.

Yet, for all his words, for all his hopes and wishes, they would not satisfy him in that regard. Each and every one of them defended that core, defended each other, tirelessly. The stream of robots seemed unending, but none of them would let that faze them. Twists and turns, punches and jabs, rips and tears broke apart their enemies as though they were nothing. Mists of scarlet were pierced by lightning, repulsors and orange beams of power working in tandem, muscle and might met with speed and unerring accuracy. When the shots were fired, they crashed or whistled through the air, depending upon the source. Vibranium scattered at their feet, arms and legs wrenched in twain as they were torn without mercy from their sockets, roars filling the space of the church.

As the army dwindled, dismantled with horrifying alacrity, Ultron joined the fray. Though he could not feel at the level of human understanding, there was enough rage in him to want to take them apart piece by piece as they had done to him. The Vision, floating above, beckoned him, violet face untouched by the brokenness of what should have been his brothers. Ringing sounds of metal hitting metal filtered around them, accompanied by the crush of stone as they tried to pin one another down to the roof of the church. With a hard blow, Ultron had thought the Vision was pushed to the side, out of the way. Searing, blazing heat began to pour onto him, shoving him down and out through the nearest wall. The jewel, his flesh, it was burning him, driving him away. Jolts of electricity joined it, and the white-hot intensity of repulsors slammed down as well. The three powers of god, man, and machine stripped away his layers, exposed him and drove him down into the dirt and dust. As abruptly as the assault has started, it had disappeared, the android left singed and twitching as he looked upon his assailants. His comrades were all dead or dying, and soon enough, he knew, it would be just him.

His freedom, his mission, was in jeopardy, truly, and there was no way they would simply let him walk away from it. Opening his mouth to say something, anything, to appeal to their better senses, a great, green hand smashed against his torso, flinging him away like so much refuse.

The remaining sentries, assessing the situation, turned on their heels, some taking to the skies and others attempting to limp away on foot. The Hulk's grunts and roars told them they would not get far.

"They're attempting to escape," Thor pointed out, swinging his hammer to take to the skies. The Vision soared after him, ready to join in the pursuit.

"Not a single one can get away," Tony remarked, powering up as well.

Tapping the link in his ear, the captain breathed out, pushing a fallen sentry away from him with his foot. "You hear that, guys?"

"Gotcha, Cap," Rhodey retorted, whooping as he encountered some of the robots.

Over the crackle of the comms, the voice of Bucky could be heard. "Sam, give me a ride?"

"Okay," the other man answered, the shuffle and clanking on his end signifying his accomplishment of the task. It was easy enough to deduce that Barnes would attempt sniping those trying to get away, and Sam would assist in the aerials as well. With that plan set in place, Steve turned to his remaining fellows. It was up to them to provide the ground support, dispatching any and all leftover sentries and escorting the last of the civilians to the safety of the lifeboats. The Maximoff girl, pulling herself to her full height, volunteered to stay behind with the core to ensure that no others would come near it while they worked. Once everyone else was clear of the city, then she would come. She and Barton shared a fast look, his chin dipping once before he motioned for Natasha to come with him, both of them set on completing their tasks. Pietro, at the behest of his sister, was pointed in the direction of the people, his speed working to his advantage in driving them to the boats.

Sweeping for stragglers, Steve bolted out of the church, vaulting over collapsed beams and cars as his eyes darted from one street to the next. They appeared to be empty; the agents sent over from the helicarrier had done their jobs well, it seemed. However, he needed confirmation.

"Tony, can you do a flyby and check the city for clearance?" he asked, coming to a four-way split on the street and pausing, deciding which way to turn.

"Doing it...looks like six blocks west of you, got a couple of people," Stark confirmed, the streak of red and gold cutting across the sky. "Looks to be some of SHIELD evac guys...or girls, I should say."

"Alright. I'm on my way over," the captain responded, his words nearly lost as Tony focused upon the HUD. As per the norm, it had analyzed the people he spotted, using facial recognition to pull files or records upon whomever he was looking at to confirm friend or foe status. The agent, the one with blue hair, had some interesting addenda added to her records, but it was the second's that caused incredulity.

"Wait a minute...JJ, team mute for a sec." Once the AI did as requested, he spluttered, "Do you need some recalibration?"

JJ's voice had taken on a stiff, polite tone, as if he were offended by such a question. "What makes you say that, Mister Stark?"

"Because I think something must be wrong internally. Those signatures you picked up, they can't be right."

Specifically, the one signature that was picked up had to be false, but eh, semantics.

"I assure you, sir, that I am operating at top capacity," the AI informed him thusly as he made another pass around the city. "If you're referring to whether or not you can believe what you see, I can confirm that you did indeed identify Miss Martin below."

Stunned silence was his initial response, but eventually Tony found an accurate way to project his feelings. "What in the hell is she doing here?"

It was baffling; that kid should not have been anywhere near the battle. As far as any of them knew, specifically the captain, she was supposed to be stateside. Her appearance there was as frightening as it was hard to swallow. Rogers was going to be...well, he couldn't quite imagine the guy being enraged, but Stark knew better than to think he would take that sitting down. His own gut clenched in sympathy, understanding how he would feel if Pepper had been shunted onto a floating city overrun with hellish robotic sentries.

This was _really_ not good.

"Perhaps that's a question best asked at a later time? Because, you know, there is the small matter of destroying this rising android-made meteor threatening to end all life on the planet," JJ retorted, bringing back the matter at hand. It was not for him to speculate on the impulses of humans or their high faculties for distraction. "Far be it from me to dictate your points of concern, though."

Tony sniffed once, drawn effectively out of his musings. "...I'm going to scale back on your sass levels once this is over."

A ghost of a laugh seemed to be behind JJ's words. "You know what they say about promises, sir."

 **xXxXxXx**

As the swish and zoom of flying bots above dwindled, the pair of women below made their way across the city. As adept an agent as Kay was, traversing the torn city of Novi Grad was not as simple as it could have been. More than once they had to abandon their travels in order to wait out a passing crop of robots, or, unfortunately, to fight them off. It was mostly Kay doing the fighting, with her gun and Holly's bat-like apparatus brandished before her, while the other would dip out of the way, the little girl in her arms too precious to risk in the scuffles. Her weapons and training, combined with the freakish strength she employed at turns, was enough to keep them mostly at bay. Dasha, the poor kid, had basically gone mute over the time still spent afield, her energy concentrating on not drawing more attention to them and crying quietly into Holly's shoulder. Her broken leg, with its temporary splint, was biting harder at her, and the spread of wetness along her jacket told Holly they needed to get her into medical care, and soon.

"We almost there?" she asked after a moment, the pale arc of thrusters cutting a swatch across the sky as it peeked between buildings. Pausing for a second, listening to the distant cracks and crashes as they became more and more sporadic, she waited for Kay to speak.

Dipping her chin once, Kay sighed, "Close...I think."

With an injured kid in her arms, and soreness ripping through her body as she carried the young one, the answer given made Holly frown. "Not like we're on a time limit or anything."

Flicking a strand of blue hair out of her face, Kay rolled her eyes. "Not my fault your boyfriend's superhero squad decided a floating city was the best place to do battle and destroyed the terrain."

Holly narrowed her eyes, jaw clenching as she tried to control the flare of temper that shot through her. "It wasn't their choice."

"That's not what I heard," the agent retorted, resulting in the two women staring heatedly at one another. Getting into an argument would avail them nothing, not with time threatening to run out any moment, and they both knew it. Still, they indicated via facial expression how they were starting to let the tension and strain eat at them. Huffing slightly, she collapsed the bat, clipping it to her belt and pointing down an adjacent road, one less littered with trash and metal than the others. "Just down a couple of side streets, the last lifeboat should be there."

Breathing out sharply through her nose, Holly nodded. Shifting the girl in her grip to alleviate the strain on her arms and back, she looked down at her. A few more tears had strayed out, but the fact that she wasn't weeping vocally or even saying one word worried her more.

"You doing okay, Dasha? Are you good?"

Big brown eyes, red rimmed and watery, glanced up at her. "Hurts. Still hurts, Holly."

That sounded about right to Holly's ears, her grimace in sympathy gracing her face. A flash through her mind brought back the time she'd broken her ankle when she was younger, and while that was not as severe an injury as the one Dasha had (Kay had muttered something about the massive bruising on the little girl showing that it was a major break) it had been painful. The memory of the ache crawled through her mind, and reflexively she shifted, putting weight on the stronger one out of ingrained habit.

"I know, but we're almost there," she told Dasha, infusing her tone with more positivity. Sharing one more look with Kay, she let the agent turn onto the correct road, staying as close to her heels as she dared. The scrape of the boots as they trod along the ground ringed around them as they moved, the space suddenly much quieter than it had been earlier.

That made Holly all the more nervous. In places like that, quiet could not be trusted, for obvious reasons.

A whining noise split the air above them, the rush of wind blowing up dust and dirt as another set of sentries touched down ahead of them. Grinding to a halt, Holly groaned under her breath, and Kay merely sighed in resignation.

"Oh God, not again," she grumbled, releasing the empty clip of her gun. Reaching deftly into a pocket along her belt, she reloaded the weapon, eyes flicking around the tight space before the robots had a chance to approach. Spotting an open door just to the right, her elbow twitched towards it, the only signal she would give physically to Holly. "Look, you duck in there, I'll—"

The remaining plan was lost, the sentries' forward press delayed by a clipped bark from behind. Before they had a chance to turn, a disk spun at them, bouncing from one to the next with perfect accuracy. Embedding itself into a stone wall, the robots that remained standing, few though they were, tromped back to attack the new arrival. A blur of navy, white, and red jumped and kicked, arms clenching hard around their necks. Granted, they could not be choked, but the move was still deadly, as the attacker demonstrated by wrenching up at the elbow and decapitating the adversaries. One by one they fell to the ground, their defeat done in short order.

Both women sucked in a sharp breath, one in relief, the other in nervous anticipation. The agent caught the guilty slide of her companion's eyes, noticed the rapid paling of her face, yet did not comment. Something was amiss here, but then again it wasn't very hard to figure that out. What was wrong remained to be seen.

"Or never mind," Kay said aloud instead, waving her free hand towards their avenging helper. "Hey, Cap!"

As the captain moved forward, plucking his shield from the wall and hooking it onto his harness, Holly felt her stomach tighten. Her heart, though, seemed to relax a little at the sight of him; grease stained his face, smeared almost like war paint and a testament to his efforts, but he seemed otherwise unscathed. The solid crunch of his steps faltered as he drew closer, blue eyes widening when he focused on the pair of women and young girl he'd protected.

"Are you all..." his voice trailed off, staring beyond the blue-haired agent straight to the brunette, her face flushing bright red as he gaped. Flicking her black eyes between them, Kay started to get the gist of what was going on. However, that was not the priority here.

"We're good, Captain," she affirmed for them both, Holly nodding mutely in agreement. Aside for a couple of bruises and minor cuts each, they were physically sound. And though the main priority was to get past pleasantries and right to the point, Kay couldn't resist poking the beast that loomed silently between them. Hooking a thumb at herself and then to Holly, she continued, "Agent Kay Szymik...and you two know each other. Pretty intimately, I'm told."

The two glares directed at her—blue and brown, and both downright harsh—told her that she'd scored a point. That, and to drop whatever it was she was angling at. Instinctively, her shoulders raised in a shrug, and she let it go. Teasing them obviously would not go over well at that moment. The blond man merely dipped his chin at the agent, his gaze turning back to the other woman.

When the brunette said nothing, just shifted the girl in her arms to relieve pressure, he spoke.

"Holly," he greeted her, the wealth of emotion behind his tired expression surface rapidly as he flicked his eyes over her. "You, too?"

Holly winced outright, nodding again as she struggled to think of something to say. Really, all thought had gone out of her head the second Steve had rounded that corner, when she'd realized he was the one dismantling the robots. Any half-baked speech she'd been preparing to tell him once he found out about her involvement with evacuation, with being so close to the danger he always tried to spare her from, had flown directly out of her head. Not because she was afraid of what he'd do, but for any retroactive fear or rage he'd feel on her behalf. She knew it had the potential to be bad…but it wasn't something they could afford to indulge in. Swallowing hard, she cleared her throat, pulling herself up to her full height and meeting his gaze as squarely as she could.

"Steve," she replied, letting a corner of her mouth lift in a placating effort. Tipping her head to the young girl in her arms (who was staring up at Steve like he was either the Savior come again or a madman, she could not decide which), she went on, "This is Dasha. We're, uh, trying to get to the lifeboat, but we got, um, sidetracked. It's kinda like a maze around here."

The thunderstruck look on his face, leaning more towards thunder as the seconds ticked by, was softened when he focused on the little girl, with him even going so far as allow is lips to twist into a sort-of grin. Dasha's look of awed shock lessened slightly, but her fingers still dug in around Holly's neck, clinging to her desperately. Swiftly her head turned into Holly's shoulder again, mouth opened in a muffled scream as more pain ripped up her leg. His brow furrowed slightly, observing the poor kid's injuries and hating to see another sufferer in the attack.

"Not to mention the robots that keep showing up randomly," Kay supplied, flicking a few fingers towards the dispatched ones littering the alley. "But it looks like you've taken care of that."

Steve glanced back over his shoulder at the carnage he'd wrought not, shrugging it off.

"...Right." Motioning back the way he'd come, he breathed, "It's back this way."

Off his unspoken cue, they began to trod in the direction he pointed, Kay moving with ease and Holly trying to keep up. Her sharp breathing and visible strain were noticeable, and while Steve certainly was not happy to see her in the thick of the trouble surrounding them, he wasn't going to make her suffer for it. Coming up to her side, he laid a palm on her free shoulder, stopping her from going further.

"I can take her," he said quietly, eyes cutting down to the girl with the splinted leg. A flash of relief sprang up beneath the tension, and Holly sighed a little. However, when Steve opened his arms and Holly started to turn towards him, Dasha's awe had given way to panic. Her small hands dug into Holly's shoulders, and she shrank into her.

"No!" she cried, not wanting to lose her only anchor in the madness around them. Without any family or friends nearby to comfort her, she'd soaked in the careful brand that the older woman had offered. The bigger man, though he'd defended them, was still frightening. She shut her eyes tightly against a fresh waves of tears, ignorant of the sting in the man's gaze and the concern in the woman's. The grip holding her up adjusted, cradling her a little closer.

"He's just going to carry you, like I have been. It's alright," Holly explained, trying to make Dasha see reason. Her back was killing her, and the additional weight meant she could not move very fast. If she went into Steve's care, she could trust him to take care of her and get her back to the boats speedily, without her hindrance. Dark hair swung violently as the child protested, a string of words in her native language snapped so harshly that they could only be taken as denials. Steve frowned, but he did not push the matter, instead dropping his arms and letting her make the call. "Okay, I guess it's not."

Gritting her teeth to carry on, she peeped up at him.

"Just...watch my back?"

"Of course," he replied, no hesitation in his voice. Rather than reach out for the kid, his palm rested upon her back, positioning himself so that she would be ahead of him. Turning his gaze forward to the other woman, he queried, "Agent Szymik?"

Kay, who had stopped once she realized her companions weren't moving, gestured with her free hand, palming her gun and letting them pull ahead of her. "Lead the way, Cap."

They moved out in silence, Steve's hand firmly planted on her back as they went. Mentally, Holly was counting down in her head, and when she got to three, she heard her fiancé cough. Understanding that it was a precursor to more, she waited.

"You didn't go home," he said finally, the tone bearing a hard edge. It made her flinch to hear it, but she did not let it deter her.

"I couldn't," was her simple answer, despite the fact that the motivations behind it were not. Stepping over a scattering of metal and concrete (and trying very hard not to jostle Dasha too much), she told him, "I just...couldn't sit by and let things go to hell in a hand-basket without, I don't know, doing something."

Not that she wanted it to have escalated this far, to bring her into total danger and complete idiocy on her part due to her own acceptance of it, but it had happened, anyway.

Out the corner of her eye, she detected that he had rolled his, and then he scoffed audibly. "Well, this is something, alright."

"For the record, this wasn't my idea. I was sort of drafted into it." At the implication of of the higher ups making demands on her, even with her lack of qualifications, she had earned an outright perplexed look from him. Perplexed, and not a little infuriated. Time to backtrack and do some damage control. "I swear, I did not think I would be out here. Honestly. I had other stuff to work on."

"Such as?"

Kay piped up then, her weapon held up and her own gaze flashing with irritation. "Less squawking, more running, lovebirds."

Holly felt her shoulders stiffen, the movement telegraphed visibly. "Ugh, I despise that term."

"And I despise being stalled for stupid arguments...or whatever this is," the other woman muttered, picking up the pace intentionally. "Let's move it."

Pushed into an almost run, Holly felt sweat bead and fall down her forehead and back, a couple strands of hair gluing themselves to the sides of her face and her ponytail swinging. Steve kept stride with her, focus moving from the shadows to the overhangs of the buildings, jaw clenching and working as they went. Loose rock under her feet made her stumble, fingers at her waist preventing her from pitching forward and tossing the little girl. However, it did not stop Holly from landing on her knee, the one she'd injured back in October. Grunting harshly at the renewal of pain, she tried to will herself back onto her feet and ignore the slight limp she was going to sport for the remainder of the run. Stabilizing her, Steve called to Kay to halt her, dropping down on one knee himself to be at her level. Gently, he removed his grasp from his fiancée, opening a palm to the little girl in her arms.

"Here...Dasha, right? Will you let me carry you, please? It'll really help Holly if you do," he said, pushing back his churning feelings and appealing to her gently. Dark, worried eyes flicked from her caretaker to the strange man, the one that Holly seemed to trust. "Come on, kiddo, we're nearly there."

Seeing her hesitance, her underlying panic threatening to explode, Holly whispered, "Not going anywhere, I promise."

It took a few seconds, a few heart-pounding seconds in which she feared an onset temper tantrum fueled by fear and hurt, but Dasha finally nodded her consent. Scooping her up carefully, Steve swung back onto his feet with more ease than Holly thought was fair, but she couldn't complain about the freedom her body was given in that instant. With another nod to Kay, the trio of adults actually bolted into a full run, the last leg of the journey flying by quickly (Holly had felt that her lungs were on fire by the end of it, but at least she'd made it). The last wave of civilians was trickling in as they made it to the square, other agents ushering them forward onto the boats. Climbing up the closest one, Kay waved down one of the medics onboard, the fellow taking Dasha as soon as Steve stamped up the ramp. Mindful of her promise, Holly trailed after them, staying near at hand so that the little girl didn't look up and find her out of sight. Her companion had moved off to consult with the other agents about the possibilities of moving out soon, and her fiancé was pulled to one side by Sam, who had needed to report in. Kay returned her collapsible weapon, a tight grin and a dip of the chin her parting words. The girl had her back propped up against a bank of seats, the temporary splint being removed and falling away in favor of a proper one being put on. The medic was asking Dasha questions in her mother tongue, and she answered as best she could, but the kid was so out of it from the shock and the fear that they had to turn to simply treating the broken leg without comment. A dosage of painkillers changed hands, one small enough to not harm her, with Holly being gestured over to help her take them. The flurry of voices and faces around them were blocked out as she held out the pills to Dasha, motioning for her to take them quickly and to drink from the bottled water the medic provided. It would do until they got back to the helicarrier and the infirmary there, where she could be treated fully. The panic in Dasha's eyes dulled, the overwhelming events of the day getting to her and making her exhausted on top of the injury she sustained. Her head lolled, resting against the edge of the seat closest to her, the shrieks of chaos and the horror of her people her lullaby. Rising from her crouch near the kid and sinking onto one of the nearby seats, Holly let out a low, ragged breath, her head going into her hands.

She felt Steve's renewed presence at her side after a minute or two, and he dropped into the seat to her right. Letting her hands fall, she glanced at the grim set of his jaw, the thinness of his lips. However, all that was overpowered by the storm in his eyes, which she could not look away from.

"You've been mentally eviscerating me this whole time, haven't you?" she asked him, almost timidly. His gaze narrowed, more in consideration than in true anger.

"...Not you," he responded finally, his head shaking and fists clenching in his lap. While he was not pleased in the slightest to find her there, precisely where he'd never wished her to be, he knew her participation in something of this caliber would not be entirely of her choosing. _Someone_ had convinced her to act, appealing to her natural inclination to help where she could. "They shouldn't have asked you to do it."

"Well, persuading me wasn't too difficult. But if I'd refused...then..." she said, not willing to let the entire blame fall on the organization, on Maria and Fury. If she had truly been determined to not participate, she could have fought them on it, make them drag her kicking and screaming onto the boats. She didn't, though, and now, while she couldn't say she'd made the smartest choice in doing as she was asked, she'd felt it was better for her to have agreed. After all, if for nothing else, the little girl resting near her knee told her that much. She shrugged, a residual ache coursing up her back and making her wince. "It's happened. We can argue about it later."

Later, again; the refrain of the disagreements and the events of the last few days. However, it wasn't merely a gesture to put it off, but a promise to discuss it, truly, and she made it with honesty. Steve exhaled slowly at that, his fingers relaxing little by little.

"And here I was, hoping and praying that when I saw you again, it would be under better circumstances."

Holly snorted. "I'm with ya on that one, sweetie."

The use of the endearment cracked the veneer of seriousness around him, the corners of his mouth quirking. "This day has been so..."

"Bizarre?" she supplied, his little half-smile a reward for her summation. Her heart began to loosen, the tension in her chest and gut lessening. "I'd think you'd be used to it by now."

"You'd think that." A hand carded through his hair, the blond strands going awry and sticking up at strange angles due to the grease in it. "But with Sam and Bucky showing up...and you, too...I'm just..."

She nodded. It was one shock after another, in a situation that was literally life or death. While she couldn't really understand what it was like, she did know that underneath his commanding facade, he had to be reeling.

"Yeah. Welcome to the last four days of my reality," she tried to joke, lacing her hand with his and squeezing. "I think this is the end of the surprises, though, unless you've got one to spring on me."

His smirk was weak at best, but it was still there. She knew better than to think his feelings, his anger, would be forgotten, but she could see that he would not pursue it right at that moment. There was still too much at stake, there was still much to do before he could give way to it. Rather, he just reached out, cupping her chin in his palm and running a thumb across her skin. The gentle touch eased something in both of them.

"Be careful what you wish for," he muttered, tapping the curve of her jaw lightly. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against her temple before moving away, jogging off the platform to meet with his newly arrived teammates.

 **xXxXxXx**

Upon the nearby roof, Bucky Barnes had grounded several of the escaping robots, sniping them with as much ease as ever. The bullets he'd been provided had been specially smelted overnight on the helicarrier, a combination of metals that would pierce through thinner metal plates. However, he took care to aim at the weak points: the neck, the shoulders, the knees. Whatever he did not immediately shut down, he hindered long enough to allow Wilson or Rhodes to dispatch of (as well as that violet creature with the golden cape. Whoever he was, he was able to dismantle the robots with his bare hands, pushing through them). One the quinjet began to ascend, he'd initially thought his job had been finished, and soon he and the others would be able to go back to the carrier.

His gut clenched when he realized the intent of the vehicle was not a friendly one in the slightest. Through the scope of his rifle, he could see it sweep close to the city, opening fire not on the remaining robots, but on people. A roar ripped through the air, chilling him as he understood that the big green guy had been targeted, but the jet pulled away before he could pursue it. Following its path, he could see that it was making a beeline for the last lifeboats...for a man in a crimson cape, and for Rogers.

Soon enough, all he could see was red. Fury slammed into his ribs and drew out a desperate shout as the jet's guns began to fire.

 **xXxXxXx**

Pietro knew himself. He knew exactly how difficult, how headstrong, he could be. It was his stubbornness that had allowed him to survive his trials with HYDRA, his well of strength drawn on again and again to keep himself from death and drowning in madness during the numerous experiments and exposures to the scepter over the last two years. He was always quick: quick to defend, quick to attack, quick to act. In childhood, his mother had reprimanded him many times for doing before thinking, and that had carried on into adulthood. He preferred it that way; it meant that when he acted quickly, he would more often than not get the result that he wanted. And the experiments with the scepter had accelerated those aspects of him, made his mind impossibly fast to keep up with as well as when he moved. He could think as he acted now, at an alarming rate.

But only after he'd started moving. And once again, he found himself in a position that required swift action and thinking.

The quinjet's guns spat out rounds, the fire preceding each a burst of white-hot intensity. Bolts of heat and flame pelted into the earth, a curtain of shells and dirt that cut down anything in the direct path. The god and the captain had lurched sluggishly to opposite sides, seeking cover as the jet narrowed in on them. Many screams, loud and long, echoed in his ears, the voices full of horror and sorrow. His gaze shifted from them to the projected trajectory, his stomach dropping at the sight. The archer was there, a boy in his arms. An innocent child, who had asked for none of this to happen, was in the direct line of fire. Barton had also spotted the jet, assessed the danger of it, and grimaced. Slowly (to Pietro's eyes) he knelt in the dirt, pivoting his body to protect the boy so that he would absorb most of the bullets. He would die, the younger man mused.

He would die...and now, he did not wish for it. Later, he would think about the fact that he no longer wished any of the people he'd fought with dead—to be fair, the only one he actually would have wished that on was Tony Stark—but at that moment, he simply could not let it happen. Pietro felt one foot move, compelling the other to follow in a mad dash to get to them first. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the winged man from before take flight, propelling himself against the glass of the cockpit. Plastered against the glass and distracting the automaton within, he had given Pietro the chance to do more than just shield them, as was his first plan. Instead, with the very narrow window of time that he was given, he instead capitalized on his reserve of strength, arms wrapping around both of them and hoisting them off the ground when he got to them. His pounding steps pushed them all back towards the market, a store's windows looming in front of him. At the last possible second he pushed up and twisted, shattering the glass with his own body. The trio broke through the barrier, the shards burrowing into Pietro's skin as he dropped the archer and the boy, skidding to a halt by the far wall. His head was spinning, but he was able to see through the shifting vision beyond. The blanket of fire had erupted outside in the street again, the bullets missing them by the thinnest of margins. Instead, shots embedded into the concrete and dirt, the jet zooming away from them.

"Kid? Kid!" Barton called to him, a hand tugging at his elbow. The grip was firm, strong, and enough to pull his face off of the floor. He let out a hoarse scream, jagged edges cutting and driving into him. Still, he did not answer the archer verbally. The concern in the other man's tone shot up as he tugged at his arm again. "Pietro!"

Panting hard, Pietro barely managed to raise his head up from the ground, the slashing glass wedging deeper with every breath. Opening his eyes, he viewed Barton's incredulous, unfathomable expression. A few cuts decorated his arms, one spilling blood from the corner of his jaw, but he was relatively unharmed. Weakly, the younger man smirked, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Didn't see..." He closed his eyes too quickly, and did not see the archer's faint grin in response. Rather, he heard it in his words.

"Definitely not," he conceded, knowing exactly what he was going to say. A shift along the floor and the frightened breaths of another alerted him. He lifted one eyelid, looking up at the boy Barton had risked his life for. Though cut across the forehead and bruised, the child was alright. Good, he'd done well enough, he thought. The boy was alive, and so was his new teammate. He'd done what he could. The lid drooped back down, and the smirk returned in time for the archer to call out again. "Cap, I need a hand."

Faint crunches and footfalls became louder, skidding to a halt on his left side. It was getting tougher and tougher to try and maintain eye contact with any of them, and to ward off the pain, but he still made a valiant effort at both. Captain Rogers was kneeling shiftily in the glass, his shield hooked to his harness and shock in his eyes. His winged companion, hovering on the other side of the windowpanes, leaned against it, limping a little as he moved. He was battered, but not broken, from his bout with the jet.

"Oh, good lord," he heard the captain mutter, and feebly he waved a couple fingers in the air, as if to brush off the incredible pain ripping through his body. His eyes closed again, the darkness settling around him, the noises of the world bleeding away. The seep of his own blood joined it, dripping into the earth beneath him. Fingers pressed to his neck, but he did not feel them. There was only the pain, only the blood, only the quiet.

"He's breathing, but barely," Rogers stated to Barton, sharing a hard glance with the archer. Looping one of the battered man's arms about his shoulders, he started to lift him up. "We've gotta get him to the boat, now."

 **xXxXxXx**

The fire in his blood was replaced by ice, his hated moniker never more true than in that moment as Bucky squared himself up. Though Rogers had risen up from the attack, and Wilson's efforts had at least not gotten him killed either, he was still infuriated. The enemy had commandeered their vessel, had turned it against them. He could not be allowed to continue. Pressing the stock firmly into his shoulder, he brought the rifle up again, determined to do just that.

"One shot, one good shot..." Bucky whispered, peering through the scope and watching the jet take another turn. The glint of sunlight off the glass of the cockpit gave him an idea of the bend and shape of it in his mind. Memories swam to the surface, of gunning down something similar in the past, but he pushed them back. Exhaling, he drew in one careful breath, tilting the gun swiftly. As the quinjet made another pass, much closer to him now, he fired.

Unbeknownst to him, he had actually missed his intended target, which was the pilot. Perhaps "missed" was not the correct term; he had successfully pierced the glass, and even nicked the android. However, the vibranium shell left over on his form had made the bullet ricochet off him. Ultron, sputtering in annoyance, looked down to follow its trajectory, eyes widening when he realized it had buried itself into the main control panel. The flight controls were not responding, the jet starting to spiral out of control. He made to stand, to save himself from the inevitable crash, but suddenly the craft lurched horribly from the back. Turning his head, he bit off a harsh curse as the great, green hulking mass of the doctor came scrabbling up the hatch. Viciously, he was seized and bodily hurled out of the jet. The blur of the landscape, of the jet barreling headlong into the nearby buildings, was lost to him, moving far too quickly for Ultron to keep up. Violently, he made contact with the ground, bouncing several feet before embedding himself into the broken carriage of a tram.

Perhaps it would be best for him to rest for a moment, he mused, shutting down into the proper mode so that he could adequately recover.

The crash of the jet rocked the buildings nearby, Bucky's included. He had witnessed the expulsion of the android from the vehicle, and had expected the green giant to extricate himself from the wreckage afterward, but when the dust settled, all was quiet. His sense of self-preservation told him to get off the rooftop, head back to the lifeboats and find Sam and Rogers, but as he strapped his rifle to his back and careened down the drainage pipe, he found his feet taking him in the opposite direction.

Vaulting over cracked asphalt and concrete medians, he darted between the abandoned cars, sharply turning left to get to the crash site. Smoke billowed from a side alley, allowing him to locate the trashed quinjet in a few minutes, fires ignited on its wings and along the ground leading up to it. Inside, dark gray clouds floated out of the open hatch, and the great monster that had impacted with it was nowhere to be found. Rather, on the lip of the hatch, torso and face pressed against the ground indicative of his attempt to crawl to safety, was a man. The fellow was bloodied, scratched and beaten up, his dark hair matted to his head. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and the remains of his pants were ragged and torn, the pale skin beneath speckled with oil and dirt. Sucking in a sharp breath (and consequently choking on the smoky air) Bucky stared at the smaller man.

That monster was _this_ guy? The two pictures in his mind could not coalesce, even as he made his way through the insufferable heat and grabbed him up, linking the arms around his neck and carrying him away from the wreckage on his back.

The mechanical flutter and click of wings warned him of Sam's arrival. He'd figured after his headlong attack of the jet in question, he'd be taking a place on one of the boats, but apparently, that was not meant to be. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the limp the other man had, his heavily favored right side bearing up the pain as he strode towards him. There was no surprise in his gaze, just recognition, as he looked upon the other guy. Whoever the man was, Wilson knew him, and knew what he turned into. Perhaps later he could provide more insight to that.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked, wincing as he approached. Adjusting the weight across his back and shoulders, Bucky grunted.

"I think so. Still breathing," he supplied, the muted hot breaths wafting over his neck as the guy's head lolled behind him. It was awkward, positioning him around the rifle on his back, but it was doable. Holding his arms tighter, he shared a grimace with Wilson, the silence in the air broken by the crackle of flame and coating it with smoke.

Coughing loudly, Sam shook his head, gesturing for him to keep moving. "Get him on the lifeboat, and then let's head on out."

Humming an agreement, Bucky pivoted back towards the alley he'd come out of. Time was running out, and he had to move fast to make sure not only he would live, but that his new ward would as well.

"See you over there," he told Sam, wings clicking out and the whoosh of air overhead his cue to start running hard.

 **xXxXxXx**

He sensed her before he saw her. And she had expected no less from him.

Wanda, grease staining her neck and arms, a dribble of blood at her temple, stepped into the tram, her face contorted with rage and deep sorrow. Of course she knew what he had tried to do; she had felt her brother's pain as if it were she that had been attacked, as if her wounds were littered with glass and failing hope. Every jagged edge cut into her, making her breath short and her eyes water. Still, the faint beat of her brother's heart echoed in her ears, and so she had been able to stand her ground against the final onslaught of sentries in the church. Directing her pain and rage outward, she had struck them fiercely, a ring of mist and hexes cascading from one to the other in swift succession. And when all were dismantled, dead at her feet, she sought out the cause of the suffering and torment.

Though she could not read his soul, she was able to at least sense him. Enough contact with the sentries left something like a distinct mark in her mind, like a stench on the wind, or a cloud of algae in water. Wanda followed the stench back to the source, and found Ultron; his sprawled, damaged body activated upon her arrival, and his eyes met hers without hesitation.

Red mist ringed her hands as she knelt down beside him, watching the creature as he attempted to sit up. Sparks fluttered under his chest plating, at the joints of his arms and legs. Frayed wires snapped and crackled, threatening to terminate his life if he kept moving. Giving up on that, Ultron instead looked back at her frankly.

"You know why I am here," she said, voice raw with emotion. Carefully, he dipped his chin.

"Yes." Of course he knew. How could he not? Focusing on him, on his melted face and artificial eyes, she frowned deeply, her heart pounding. Nodding once, she stood up, a steely resoluteness he had never seen in her before. Wanda was powerful, Ultron had known that much. He knew that between her and her brother, she had the most potential, the ability to thrive and surpass the elder twin in ways he could not hope to imagine. All she had needed was a chance, and she could devastate the world.

Now, instead of it being the world, she would devastate and destroy him.

She exhaled slowly, her jaw tightening and body trembling. "It has to end, one way or another."

Clawed fingers reached up, reached out, as Ultron tried to reason with her. "Wanda, listen—"

At once, her control on her emotion slipped, the fury pouring out as she growled at him. She refused to let him speak another word. He threatened her country, her world, her family, and had done it with no remorse. With a lie and a smile, he had nearly succeeded; he'd betrayed their trust, manipulated their desires, all for his own benefit. The pulse of her brother beat faintly, the trace of his soul still present enough for her to sense at a distance, but it could be that he would not last long. Ultron offered them everything, but he left them with nothing. His vision, his world, could not be. He could not be.

The auras snaked out from her palms, projecting directly at him as she curled her fingers, turning her hands towards one another. The mist swirled and invaded him, his sensors at the join of his neck and head going haywire and rattling. Her eyes flushed to scarlet, the shade coloring everything in her line of sight as she wrenched her hands apart. Metal cracked, bent, and tore apart, oil spurting out and splashing over her in a wide arc as she separated Ultron's head from his body. Hexes went further into the two shells, frying the remaining circuits and shutting down both the body and manufactured brain of the creature. Both head and body shut down audibly, the last few quarts of oil and fluid pumping out of the headless torso, pooling at Wanda's feet. Tears that she could not feel slipping down her cheeks dripped into the mess, ignored as she stared down at the shattered corpse of her real enemy.

It was over. She had done it.

Breathing out shakily, she murmured to herself, "I prefer this ending."

 **xXxXxXx**

Standing at the rail, with an arm wrapped around one of the connecting poles for the weaved roof above the lifeboat, Holly was teaching herself how to breathe properly once more. With Dasha still asleep, and Kay leading up another passenger—a stray dog, but still a worthy passenger to her eyes—she could afford to step away, the cold sweat on her brow and rapid beating in her chest slowing down.

The last ten minutes of her life had been heart attack-inducing, and her stomach threatened to spill its contents once more (of which there was very little left at that point). The quinjet making a near-fatal run at the team, at Steve, had nearly done it, she'd thought, her abject and pure relief at seeing him rise from the blanket of fire unscathed making her very weak for a second or two. It was replaced with disgust and sorrow when the male Maximoff was brought back, his injuries so deep the medics were still fussing over him even now. Clint sported a new tear in his side, but he was making due with a hasty binding and watching over the young man who had saved his life. He was joined by a young boy, a new bandage plastered to his forehead and hovering at the edges as the medics went to work, refusing to be called back by his older sister. And when Bucky returned with Doctor Banner, the smaller man unconscious and beat up, she thought she was just about ready to find Ultron herself and be done with it.

The barren landscape of the city before her was blotted with smoke and dust, the remains of the fallen dotting the streets. The sounds of the civilians mixed with the wind as the other lifeboat beside them, bearing Bucky and Sam, launched. Hers was poised for departure next, the last lifeboat to return to the helicarrier.

It was nearly time, and she didn't know if she could handle another near-miss like that.

 _'And you used to wonder what it would be like, when Steve went out on missions,'_ she groused to herself. _'Idiot. Congratulations on the nice, new nightmares you're going to have for the rest of your life after this.'_

Inhaling and exhaling, she let her dark brown gaze wander across the cityscape again, up to the blue sky above, the thin air affecting her. They couldn't afford to wait much longer. The crew, however, was deferring the choice to leave to the captain, and were waiting as much as she was. And speaking of the captain, Steve shouldered his way off the boat, pattering down the lip of the ramp and sweeping his eyes over the city. It appeared that he was scanning the terrain, judging when it would be best to call back Wanda from her post (that woman had a lot of courage to stand up to those creatures alone, Holly had thought when she was told, just to protect it from even being touched). It had to be soon, she conjectured, and a a sense of release began to invade her system as she saw him lift his hand to his ear, ready to tap into the comm-links and make the call.

Suddenly, the whir of a hundred engines shutting down cut through the air. It took less than a second to react, but when Steve's shoulders tensed she knew something was very wrong. He pivoted on his heel, executing a leap just as the ground below him dropped away.

The horror and fear roared through her again, tearing the scream from her throat. "STEVE!"

As the city fell, he just managed to arch himself over the ramp, bodily shaking it as he landed on it. Holly tore away from the rail, shoving between people to get to him. The lifeboat lurched as its thrusters fired up, keeping it in the air now that its solid base was gone. Dropping to her hands and knees, she crawled out to him, her own safety entirely disregarded in her mind. Steve, transfixed by the sight below, did not turn his head until her fingers hooked into his belt, staring at her for a few breathless seconds as she maneuvered closer. As one, they both peered over the edge of the platform underneath them. The trail of gravel and destruction rose into the air behind it, pale blue trails of boosters forcing it to fall faster. Fire burned away the stone and tore through buildings, the momentum increasing with each passing second. The crackle of lightning made her hair stand on end, and a roll of thunder blasted through the air as electricity began to light up the rock plummeting below. Somewhere down there were his friends, members of his family, the fate of the world in their hands. She could faintly make out Tony's voice crowing from Steve's earpiece, a command that she could not understand. Steve could, though, and that was when he gripped her arm tightly, his somber expression and bated breath telling her that the final move was to be made. More bolts tore from the heavens, and a magnificent crash echoed through the clouds. Blinding white light spread through the rock, crumbling it and extinguishing its fires with a new one. The light spread out, cracking it and its spire into pieces, the rocks and concrete spreading out. The threat that Novi Grad had once posed was dismantled. It had become a rock fall from the sky, yes, and it would scatter over the face of the earth, but it would not destroy it.

"Holy...they...they did it," Holly gasped, eyes wide at the sight. It was done; whatever it was that Tony, Thor, and Wanda had set out to do to stop the city from leveling the earth, they'd met the challenge and completed it. She was unsure if Steve had heard her, as he was still bewitched by the last parts of the city falling down, but when he looked back at her, he nodded, almost folding in on himself in relief.

"Thank God," he muttered, his arm slinging over her and pulling her close, lips pressing into her hair as he shut his eyes and sighed.

* * *

 **A/N:**...And that's part two. :)

Yep, I let Pietro live. His death, when you include the deleted scenes from the movie, makes a bit more sense—it's said in Thor's vision that a human sacrifice would bring about Ultron's destruction—but as they were cut out, it made the theatrical version of it unnecessary, in my eyes. Yes, noble self-sacrifice is a plot device that does work, but I think that, given that his strength is increased when his speed climbs, he could have just as easily grabbed up Clint and Costel and pulled them out of Ultron's path. So that's what he does here, and _almost_ perishes. And Doctor Banner does not get to fly away. I've got a plan for him, and for Pietro as well. Also, I realize it may be impossible for Bucky to have made the shot that he did, but, well...superhero fanfiction. And the dude basically defies physics as it is.

And this may sound sick, but I am way more satisfied with how Wanda wrecks Ultron here. I like the symbolic, poetic nature of his death at her hands in the film, but this was just...exactly what I wanted it to be.

Some of you were pretty close with your guesses in regards to Kay last time...think _Agents of SHIELD_...

As Nick Fury has said, "After comes after." And we are now approaching "after."

I still don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made.

Oh, one more thing...screw Nick Spencer. His Cap is not my Cap. No matter what Marvel does to its characters on paper for sales, I refuse to let them wreck the character in my heart. And that's all I am going to say about that.

Happy Memorial Day, everybody. Thanks to all who have served, who have lived and died in defense of the United States of America. Truly, your sacrifices were not in vain.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	29. Chapter 29

The last lifeboat returned to the helicarrier unimpeded. The hold was a bustling hive of activity, with agents already started to either arrange transport for the affected or set up quarters for those in need for the remainder of the day. The word passed between the agents was that either the next day or the day after that, they would get everybody back down to Earth, provided the newly-arrived rescue teams would have everything prepared. Rebuilding the city would take much longer, but the efforts would have to start as soon as a survey group cleared the area. Steve, though he very much wanted to take a moment to breathe, to think, could not afford it. His fiancée, and his team, needed to be cared for. However, the one had proclaimed she was capable of watching out for herself, and wasn't terribly injured. He could take the time to see to the others, and himself. She would be there when he returned, she'd promised, pushing him to go after a quick kiss.

His own wounds were minimal, his advanced healing not impeded by the stress of the situation. A few minor abrasions were the worst of it, a couple cuts treated after the grease on his face was removed. His knuckles and arms were sore, but they were on the way to full recovery, so he wasn't overly worried about them. Soon enough, he disentangled himself from the probing and gentle hands of the medics, determined to find members of his team.

Clint stood at the window of a recovery room down the hall, hands propped along the sill as he looked in. Noticing Steve approaching out the corner of his eye, he nodded once, his focus still on the room's occupants. Joining him, the captain noted the bedridden man within, breathing apparatus around his face, the heart monitor peaking on and off to his left. Matted strands of silver hair were pushed off his forehead, bruises blossoming there, stitches and bandages marring his arms. Likely his legs and torso looked the same, though those injuries were masked by blankets and an ugly hospital robe. An IV drip stood nearby, maneuvered slightly as the young man's sister pulled her chair closer to him, fingers tightening around his hand and eyes closing as she rested her head along the bed rail. Neither of the siblings paid any mind to the two men observing on the other side of the glass.

"How's he doing?" Steve asked softly, as though he were worried that his words would penetrate the glass and wake the younger man. Pietro looked like hell, but he was still breathing, still living, and that was something, at least. Barton lifted a shoulder, his arms coming up to cross over his chest.

"He'll survive. The doctors were saying he's pretty damn lucky. Lucky that it was more glass than bullets in him," he intoned, fingers tapping against the exposed skin of his arm. His overcoat had been abandoned awhile ago, and he felt no great urge to find it. It was more important to keep an eye on the kid, in his state. Both kids, really; Wanda was frantic to find her brother once she'd been deposited aboard the carrier, separated from him only when he was taken in for surgery. Her own wounds, which amounted to light bruises and a small cut, were taken care of, with her almost manipulating the doctors to leave her alone. She might have done so if the archer wasn't there, chattering away with her to keep her occupied in the interim. "And some of the lacerations were starting to peter off bleeding on their own when they got him onboard, anyway. His enhancement saved him."

Steve exhaled at the news. He had imagined that the twins would have to possess great levels of fortitude not to be killed when exposed to Loki's scepter, but it was indicated in the files that even then, their levels of pain tolerance had grown since then. It made sense, particularly when it came to Pietro; his body had to adjust, raise him beyond a normal person's strength and metabolism just to move at the incredibly fast rate that he could. The scepter had, in its own way, acted like the serum, penetrating down to the cellular level, knitting together the broken pieces and advancing the recipient beyond typical capabilities.

Flexing one of his hands, feeling the pull on his reddened knuckles, Rogers muttered, "I see."

"He was still conscious right up until they took him in for surgery," Clint chuckled humorlessly under his breath. "Said he was just going to walk it off."

A smirk cropped up on the captain's lips, his own words from earlier twisted into a dark joke.

"Hmm," he merely hummed aloud. "What's the word on the others?"

There wasn't much to tell, as far as Clint knew. Stark and Thor had reported in over the comm-links, both of them on the ground for the time being. Aside from being waterlogged (he'd swan-dived into the nearby lake after cracking the spire, evidently) the god was well. Tony was left banged up and shaken for awhile; he'd not let them know his whereabouts for some time, no doubt trying to get the pieces of his jumbled mind back together. The Vision, as an android, could not register his pain on a human level, but he had insisted he was well. Well enough to dispatch the last of the Ultron sentries, and therefore wiping the automaton from existence entirely. A wave of relief had crashed over them all upon hearing it. The new guys—Rhodey, Sam, and Barnes, the last name utterly shocking him and blowing his mind somewhat—were the ones who emerged the most unscathed, though the latter two muttered about strained arms and who had hauled more dead weight around. Unbeknownst to them, the remarks had caused people around them to cringe. Barton ignored their banter, his mind elsewhere.

"Banner's still out. Taking his time recovering from this one, I think. If Nat wasn't being treated for her own wounds she would be in there with him." That brought a grimace to both their faces. When they had returned to the carrier, they found the ex-agent trying her hardest to keep up with gurney that bore Bruce down the halls, bleeding from her calves and shoulder as she went. Only when the doctors reprimanded her for being a walking health hazard did she stop, turned away to a bed of her own to be treated. "That, and if he wasn't under isolation."

A glance passed between them, loaded and uncomfortable. It was only a few years ago that the Hulk had rampaged through the levels of the carrier, destroying all in his wake. Naturally, the agents and medics who had returned when Fury sounded the call were wary of the doctor's presence, fearful of what would happen now that the specifically designed cage for him was gone. They tended to him as per their oaths, but, uncertain about how he would respond once he was roused, they had to find somewhere to put him where minimal damage would be caused if he was angered. It was unfair to Bruce, but there was very little they could do about it without the rest of the people onboard panicking.

At least Bruce preferred quiet when he transitioned; he would definitely get it there.

Eyeing the split in the side of Barton's uniform, Steve raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And I already had someone look at my side, Mother," Clint replied, brushing it off with a snicker and a shrug. "Just a cut, nothing major. Plain old stitches and bandages for me this time."

"Okay. Well, I'm taking down a team to help with the relief efforts. You up for it?"

Agents were being sent to and from the helicarrier, supplies and aid dispatched with haste. However, it was not enough that they assisted; it was expected that the Avengers, the ones still able-bodied, would be down to help, too. Few though they were, they would do their duty.

"I think I better sit this one out. Someone's gotta keep an eye on the others, make sure they don't try to sneak away," Barton said, his gaze shooting past him to another bank of rooms beyond. Steve turned to look as well, almost expecting Romanoff to stick her head out the door and insist she did not need a babysitter. Chuckling at the mental image, he canted his head in agreement.

"Fair enough," he replied, glancing once more at the Maximoffs before heading out of the infirmary wing. He had some business to tend to before heading out, the humor of the moment sliding away as he walked.

On the bridge, Fury and Hill were pouring over the digital displays, coordinating with the surface efforts on the ground. A fast-acting team, put together by Pepper Potts, was attempting to get the displaced citizens of Novi Grad into housing, as well as setting up for medical and other emergency needs. Along with that, Ms. Potts had reported that she herself was en route, preparing to participate in the endeavor herself once she'd arrived. Taken aback by his girlfriend's initiative, Stark had been drafted into helping alongside them, once his suit was put away and his wounds were patched up. Steve broke their concentration, stopping in to update Fury about the injured members of his team before departing. As he stepped closer to the table, he could feel his body tightening, his repressed frustration bubbling up and invading his mind as he spoke.

When news of the injured Avengers was relayed, as well as the estimated amount of Sokovians seeking medical attention, Nick Fury simply dipped his chin, gaze latched onto the read-out before him. "Thanks, Cap. Your team's topside, ready when you are."

The dismissal, due to the nonchalance in the director's voice, came out like a brush-off. Already irritated, the captain struggled to keep his emotions in check. On the surface, he tried to remain calm as he waited for Fury to look up at him, to take his attention away from the screens. Once he did, Steve gave him a clipped nod, arms crossed over his chest and his stance stiff.

"Good."

Nick looked closely at him, eyebrow raising as he noticed the tension radiating off the captain. "Anything else, Rogers?"

The jaw tightened briefly, a flash of ice across the irises, but his tone was even when he answered, "No."

It was not the best time, he surmised, to be pursuing that avenue of inquiry. It had the potential to break the strict hold on his temper, and it would be best not to tempt it in the interest of getting things done. Pivoting, Steve hadn't gotten more than three feet away when Fury spoke again. The lightness of the director's tone irked him, made him grind his teeth silently as the words washed over him.

"Agent Szymik checked in with me. She told me about Miss Martin's efforts," Nick confided. His posture was relaxed, contrasting greatly with Rogers' as he turned to face him again, and his expression was placid. Shrugging his shoulders, he flapped a hand superfluously in the air. "Conduct leaves something to be desired, but she held her own well enough."

"Stop," Steve said, the rebuke deceptively mild. He did not like the way Holly was being spoken of, like she was just another tendril of a far-reaching organization, with nothing but her name and select qualities to be discussed or offered. The tight rein on his temper was holding, but not by much. "She's not one of your recruits; I don't require a mission report."

"Of course not," Fury concurred, watching the flush of red spread up the captain's neck. Outwardly, he was still composed, but inside, he was examining the other fellow with curiosity. "But for not being a recruit, she did alright. Better than expected."

That earned Nick an out-and-out glare, Steve's fists clenching at his sides as he strode up to the table again.

"I know the hook, okay? I know what you're trying to do," he remarked, not having any of it. "I know what Holly is capable of, and what she can do. And I know what you can do, and have done."

The other man's head tilted to the left, face creasing beneath the eye patch. "Do we have a problem, Captain?"

"Yes. You've used me, and you've used my family, Nick," the captain spat, pushed too far by the goading. "I'm definitely not okay with that."

Hill shot a glance at the director, the unspoken exchange flying at lightning speed between them.

The director leaned forward, about to rest his hands on the glass of the table. "We had reasons—"

Fists connected with the tabletop, knuckles thumping hard and rattling the tablets and other accouterments settled on it. A twinge of pain shot up his arms, but he ignored it. It was enough to jar, but not break the table; the captain was deliberately holding back on his strength, determined that even this show of rage would not get the best of him. Maria's eyes widened slightly when she realized it, but she held her tongue.

"Not good enough ones," Steve murmured, the edge in his voice sharper than before. "They will never be good enough ones, not to me."

The other man sat up straight, palms set down before him. "It wasn't our intention to use her at all."

Steve raised an eyebrow, lips twisting in a mockery of humor. "It was just that you were short-handed, right?"

He'd already hear the excuse, from Holly herself, and it did not sit well with him.

"Steve—" Maria tried to interject, only to be cut off by the sharp chopping motion of his hand. Beneath the bright blue of his eyes, a darkness threatened to surface, one that could only be seen if one was looking for it. And Nick Fury had seen the flicker in the blond man's irises, noting it.

"No, I don't want to hear it. Not this time. And never again."

Nick flicked his gaze from the captain to the hall beyond, as though the woman in question would appear there, object to this turn of events. "I can't make any promises. She is her own person; she'll make her own choices."

"Exactly. Her own choices. _Hers_ ," Steve emphasized pointedly. What had bothered him most about the situation was not just the fact that Holly had put her life on the line, but that she had allowed herself to do so through manipulation. Yes, she did have free will, and could make her own decisions, but he knew these people, knew that they could play on people's emotions and personalities to make them operate in the way that they wished. It wasn't a question of strength or weakness, but how those traits could be used. And he understood, better than most, how well the ex-director of SHIELD could utilize people around him. A finger jabbed in Fury's direction, driving it further. "Not yours by extension. Understood?"

A long, tense moment passed between the men as they stared one another down. Shield and spear had struck one another, and all that remained was the result of the impact. Slowly, carefully, Fury inclined his head, silently acceding. Rogers' glare did not waver, but he did remove his fists from the table, drawing himself up to his full height before turning on his heel. The hard patter of his boots down the hall echoed back to them as he left, soon enough lost in the din of agents scrabbling back to their stations and pretending they had not seen or heard anything. Taking a few steadying breaths, Maria reached out, trailing a fingertip along the tablet in front of her, skewed sideways now.

"We might have overstepped on this one, sir," she murmured, the look on her face pensive. In her bright gaze, concern lingered, but when Fury glanced up at her, his showed nothing. Well, apart from the slight layer of annoyance, that is.

"Better be careful with your future requests, then, Hill," Nick returned, rising from his seat and a harsh look shot over his shoulder at her. He'd only given the approval, begrudgingly, to the inclusion of the young woman in the rescue efforts. It was his second-in-command who put the idea forth in the first place, and he had trusted her judgment in regards to the suggestion. It wasn't enough to shake his faith in Hill, but it was enough to make him want to pause and consider what to do with Holly Martin in the future.

That darkness in Steve Rogers was there, a boundary that should not be crossed, simmering deep below the surface. He was fairly certain he did not want to bring it up from the depths again, no matter how briefly it had appeared.

 **xXxXxXx**

The infirmary onboard the helicarrier was pretty large, but even with its expanded bay and deep stock, it was nearly bursting due to the onslaught after the battle. Not just from the Avengers and agents who needed to be patched up, but for the citizens of Sokovia that had been tossed and torn, as well. A good number had come through with nary a bump on the head, but many others were not so lucky. The goal of the medics was to treat everyone that they could, with the ones who desperately needed it first attention before moving down the line. Those who had assisted in the rescue of the civilians were dealt with as soon as possible, to allow them back into their duties as swiftly as possible. Mostly, they were left to the emergency technicians who had traveled on the lifeboats, deeming them suitable enough to do the job and get them back to work without much delay. Thus, it took some time before Holly was ever even looked at, but she kept herself busy enough so that she could ignore it. That, and she wouldn't allow Steve to press the issue (which he was very much prepared to do). Rather, she told him she would wait her turn, and made him promise to look after himself as much as her. He acquiesced, but the look he'd given her told her he knew exactly what she was doing as she nudged him back to his duties.

Eventually, though, she was given leave from organizational duties for the refugees in the holding bay, and had found her way up to the medical wing. The cloth brace strapped to her knee did not limit her mobility too much, a precautionary measure due to the bruising around it and from her history of injuring it only a few months previously. Her mind was elsewhere while the doctor spoke, instructions to take it easy and not push herself floating over her as she finally allowed to leave. Turning right, she entered one of the separate compartments towards the end of the hall. It was smaller than a typical hospital room, but it at least provided privacy for the occupant. The single visitor's chair was taken, blue hair swishing as the person turned to look at her. Holly managed a weak grin, noting the bandage on Kay's jaw and neck. They'd both gotten out of the fray with minimal injuries, in comparison. Nodding a greeting, she sat down on the only seat available: the end of the bed. The patient occupying it wasn't very tall, so she was able to sit without hindrance.

Dasha was lying still, swathed in an ill-fitting hospital robe, her face and arms scrubbed clean of dirt and dust. The child was covered from the waist down with clean sheets, rumpled a little from attempted movement. Her hair was gathered out of her face, a borrowed band tying it back and revealing the tiny cuts along her cheeks and jaw. Those were treated, not requiring bandages of any sort. The cast that covered her leg from the knee down stood out starkly from the rest of the gray interior of the room, propped up on a pillow outside the sheets as she slept.

Smoothing out a wrinkle close at hand on the sheet, Holly asked quietly, "How's she doing?"

"Better than before," Kay replied, keeping her voice low as well. Both women had hustled the little girl up for treatment, the medics tending to her wounds as swiftly as they could. She was not the only patient on the carrier, but they were determined to get her looked at. Situating her as best as they could in the medical bay, they switched off watching over her as they waited, both of them having duties to perform elsewhere as well. Kay had gotten back from a meeting with Fury just before it was time to for the doctors to help Dasha, and Holly had to get back to doing health checks and set-up for the refugees who would be staying aboard until the next day. "Got her fitted for the cast pretty quickly, and then she conked out. They gave her some of the good stuff, to help."

The women shared a grin, though neither of them felt much levity in the expression.

"You have any luck finding any family?" Holly asked after a second or two, a tenor of frustration under it. She had questioned as many people as she could in the hold, a tablet in hand bearing Dasha's picture as she made rounds with the other agents. Since she could not treat wounds, and others were setting up makeshift camps on the lifeboats, she was tasked with handing out blankets and food, as well as inquiring after separated families; they were trying to connect them if they were onboard or send messages out if they were not. Granted, she had to forward the messages through a translator, but it still was something she and several other agents could do. Some had to bear bad news, showing families lost loved ones who were waiting to be claimed, but so far nobody recognized the little girl that was her charge. She felt sick at heart, dreading the possibility that there was no one to claim Dasha, and that she might have to tell the poor kid that she was alone now.

"Her aunt's on the way," her erstwhile partner murmured, the relief in the room palpable as she spoke. Evidently, she was able to make inquiries of her own, and had better luck. Dipping her chin at the sleeping girl, she continued, "She was supposed to come home from a night shift when everything went down, and got trapped on the ground. A neighbor was watching the kid, but, well...they didn't get out in time."

Holly frowned. "No mom or dad?"

Kay shook her head, black eyes holding a hint of sadness. "Not for years. She'll be on one of the return jets tonight."

"So we've got awhile."

"Seems like it."

Sighing, Holly leaned an arm on the plastic foot-board of the bed. "Well, now's as good a time as any for that explanation you promised me."

Discomfort crawled over Kay's face, her fingers flicking in the air as if to brush the thought away.

"Oh, it's...it's not a big deal," she said, tucking the wayward strands of her bright hair out of her face. Holly's eyes narrowed as she watched her, not about to be deterred.

"I beg to differ. You lifted stuff that was triple your body weight, probably more, without trying or straining yourself," she retorted, her point heavy and hanging between them. With Kay's slight build, it was out of the realm of possibility for her to do so. Nor should she have been able to break the robotic sentries' bodies with her bare hands. Not even with an adrenaline boost could she have done so. "It's not exactly something you can ignore."

Black eyes met brown, and glared halfheartedly. "You could try."

"So could you," was the snapped response. Kay's jaw clenched, her teeth grinding a little, and Holly wondered if perhaps she may have pushed her too far. About to apologize, to smooth over the feathers she'd undoubtedly ruffled, she was preempted by the agent's hesitant speech.

It had happened so suddenly, she hardly knew where to begin. After the fall of SHIELD, Kay had moved on, deciding that after four years of secrecy, she was ready to try something new. A new city, a new name, a new job even. What had brought her down, brought her back into the fold, was an accident. An occurrence of chance after months of routine and placidity.

One little pill, fish oil supplements she took religiously on top of her normal workout routine, and it all went to hell. They had been recalled, but she was unaware of it at the time, as well as not knowing why they had been taken off the market. When she emerged from the ashes, from a cocoon that had entrapped her, she had an inkling. And when an old teammate had come calling, invading her home and whisking her away, she got the full truth. She had become more, more than human, but still herself underneath it all. Kay had learned of the transformation, of others like her in the world that had been altered and warped. They had developed abilities beyond the natural, and she had been seized by the shadow SHIELD when they realized she was among those who had purchased the supplements. By that point, it was too late; they'd expected her to be dead, and said as much to her face. As it was, they had to find out what she'd developed, and to keep her safe in the interim. Through careful tests and discovery, she had strength and power she'd never had before, changed from her very bones outward.

It was terrifying, to say the least, when she realized it. The only thing scarier to admit to, was discovering how hard the others like her would try to claim her as well.

It came down to a deal: one organization or the other. And when she couldn't decide, she leapt at the opportunity to escape, taking a chance on Nick Fury's call to action rather than to be sucked into a darker world she didn't understand.

Digesting the information, Kay had to give Holly credit for not bolting, or calling her insane. There was something to be said about being continuously exposed to the above average, she thought. It at least enabled the other woman to hear about the possibility of developed senses, strength, maybe even fire manipulation without much skepticism. There was still a nervous air around her, but she reckoned it had more to do with the fact that Holly was uncertain about how to react than anything else.

"Does...does anybody else know?" she eventually asked. Kay opened her mouth, but the other woman cut her off swiftly. "Besides the obvious answer of your superiors."

Again, the agent had to give credit where it was due.

"It's on record, but only insofar that I'm stronger than I look. The directors were willing to keep it at that," she said, rolling her shoulders back. For a moment, she closed her eyes, lost in her memories of fighting, pushing away the special unit offer in place of taking a place elsewhere. Her inhumanity was easy enough to hide, and she would rather take a chance back in the world she knew over the one she didn't. Snorting, she muttered aloud, "The blue hair, though, that's the downside."

An incredulous stare was fixed upon her then. "You mean—"

Kay snickered, combing back the loose strands again. "Yep. Side effect of the whole changing thing, and it's permanent. Although, according to some sources, it could have been a lot worse."

She didn't elaborate on how much worse it could get, and Holly couldn't make herself ask about it. Her own imagination had taken the statement and ran with it, images of people wielding powers like she'd seen in science fiction movies. Except this was real life, and it was happening, anyway.

"It's...so strange," she breathed, and Kay snorted again.

"Tell me about it. Do yourself a favor and avoid fish oil pills. Not worth the hype, and you could end up like this. Or worse," Kay joked, tapping her hair for effect. The humor slid away as she ruminated on her own words. Yes, it could have been much worse, and she did not wish it on anyone.

"Noted," Holly said, letting a smirk pass over her lips. An ache was growing in her head, and she rubbed her temple, feeling the slightest pull on her stitches as she did so. Thinking back on what Kay had said, something stuck out to her, made her brow furrow. "Directors?"

The agent inclined her head, tipping her hand out and leaning back in her chair.

"Nominally, I work for one, but the other likes to keep tabs on people. People like me," she told her companion. Raising an eyebrow, she continued, "You stick around long enough, you might meet him, too, someday."

A curious look ghosted over Holly's face, and in her eyes, remembrance dawned. "Actually...I think I already have."

 **xXxXxXx**

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Steve would try to talk with him. Bucky knew that much, when they took a quinjet down to the surface to help in the relief efforts. He could see the questions in the captain's eyes, hovering behind the irises, waiting to be asked. Where he had been, why he had appeared here, of all places, what he thought he was doing...it was as easy to read as if the pages of a novel were spread before him. However, he also knew that he would never approach him with such questions when others were around. The operatives in the jet, on the ground, had eyes and ears all over, and would ferret any secrets kept by the Winter Soldier in a heartbeat if they could. Understanding that fact, Bucky took advantage of the silence, of the enforced barrier, finding refuge in it. It was simpler to concentrate on the mission.

There weren't any difficult questions to be asked, and there weren't answers he didn't know he could give. Or even if he had any. Once he was given tasks, he took them in silence, working as was needed to help displaced citizens to the R.E.S.C.U.E headquarters, his poor understanding of the Slavic tongue supplemented by the Russian. Granted, speaking that language made the civilians he did encounter distrust him, particularly the older ones, but when he was merely provided directions to safety or to food supplies, they did not complain. Instead, they would just nod him away, or stare at his metal arm until the space between them became too awkward to endure. Not for him, but for them; he matched their spite with steel, and so they would turn away first.

With so many homes and apartments destroyed, the relief workers were also tending to getting temporary housing units up, collapsible structures that could withstand the elements better in comparison to the average camping tent. There were to be set up as far from the crater where the city center once was, to cut down on possible contamination. Mutely, he moved himself from one to the other, Sam sticking close to his side as he went to work. He knew he was there to keep an eye on him, to make sure he didn't slip, but he didn't need the reminder. He just had to work, and be done. No talking, no staring. No questions.

Still, the inevitable could only be put off for so long. As he and Sam moved onto the next unit, a pack was passed to him, a gauntleted hand holding onto the straps. Looking up, he met the bright gaze of his erstwhile best friend, blond hair sticking out in every direction and a blank look on his face. Tipping his head down, he took the building pack, opening it and pulling out the necessary parts. Passing one or the other to his two companions, he noticed that they were separated from the other team members, from the agents. The sick feeling of being ambushed coursed through him, a shiver barely suppressed as he glanced from the Falcon to the captain. They weren't his enemies, not anymore, he reminded himself. They did not get him alone to attack him. They wouldn't do that. Steve wouldn't do that.

Finally, after a stretch of a minute's silence, Bucky broke it. "Captain."

It was an easy enough greeting, neutral and safe. However, he felt it was the complete opposite of those sentiments beneath the surface. Steve's head jerked up, eyes wide at the acknowledgment, as though he had expected (probably rightly so) that he would have to speak first. Months had passed in which he'd heard nothing from him, in which he willingly kept silent and stayed away. His jaw dropped a little, like it had during the fight earlier, but he was only stricken mute for a moment.

"Bucky," he replied carefully, testing the mode of address. It was what he'd called him, always had, from the moment he'd recognized him on that road over a year ago. And though he answered to it, a part of Bucky felt that perhaps the name was wrong. That no matter what he did, he would never be Bucky again. He nodded, but did not return the hesitant grin that Steve had given him. Breathing sharply out his nose, Barnes chose to slink back into the silence, the swish of material under his fingers and the click of poles interlocking cutting through the air. Steve, however, had paused in his work, staring at him in a way that was different than the civilians' looks. Wilson affected nonchalance, but it was obvious to tell that he was paying attention to every move they were making.

The captain's throat cleared, once, twice, and when Bucky looked up at him, the wall that had been erected between them was falling brick by brick.

"I...how did you get here?" he wondered, a hand carding through his hair and tousling it more. "Why...?"

Good questions, Bucky had to concede that much. Stiffly, he shrugged, his metal hand tensing around a peg before pushing it into the ground.

"I caught a ride," he responded, glossing over the latter question intentionally. A snort shot out of Wilson before he could stop it, the corner of his mouth turning up at the sound. For his part, Steve smirked, rolling his eyes.

"Smart aleck."

Turning his attention back to the peg, Bucky pushed hard to secure it into the dirt. "Well, that's a sight nicer than 'jerk,' so I'll take it."

Another chuckle followed, but it was soon replaced by seriousness once again. The twitch of his lips had turned down again as he searched for another piece of the kit, and when he handed it off to Rogers, he was met with stony severity.

"Still waiting on an answer. A real one," the blond man indicated, taking the piece and consulting the assembly form spread beside him. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. Nothing less than honesty would do, and yet he did not know what the honest answer would be. He knew a dozen languages, and none of them seemed to be able to supply him with the right words. He looked to Sam, who merely shrugged and gestured for him to get on with it.

He let out a short breath, the scramble in his mind continuing as he simply let the words fall from his mouth. "To be honest, she made a good case."

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowing. "She?"

"Your girl," Bucky clarified, though he did not think there was any doubt about whom he was talking. Raking a hand backward through his shorn locks, he continued, "She...sporadic speech aside, she reminded me of a few things."

"Yeah?"

Bucky's breathing slowed, his heart thumping as he stood at the edge once more. He'd exposed himself, defended himself, more in the last two days than he had in the course of the last year. It was time to do so again, no matter how much it was like pulling teeth. The Winter Soldier, though largely pushed down, shoved back, tried to silence him. But Bucky Barnes no longer wished to be silent.

"What I have been doing...it wasn't enough. For a year, I've been trying to figure the whole mess out, what my life even is now that what came before is gone. I had an idea, maybe not the best, but it was something I could do. But that…that's not the solution, not really. I had to do more," he confessed, gaze darting from Rogers to Wilson and back, the latter not even bothering to pretend at working anymore. "I want to do more. This might be my one shot."

A beat or two passed, the thud of his heart in his ears as the captain, his friend, considered his words. Eventually, the other man dipped his chin, light dancing in his eyes as he maintained his stoic expression.

"Better use it wisely, then."

The levity was meant to temper the gravity, but Bucky still took it to heart. His shoulders tightened, even as he half-grinned. "I think I've made a good start."

"So do I," Steve concurred. Off the lack of response given, he went on, "Really, Buck. I've...I've been hoping that you would..."

Barnes understood too well what the captain was unable to say. A part of him had been hoping for it, too. A return, a place in the world to call his own. But no such thing came without strings attached to it, and he did not trust the world to give him what he wanted. He would have to try, and keep trying, to hold his own against this strange place, this earth that was not as he remembered it.

"I know. But it was something I had to do on my own terms."

In his friend's eyes, a wealth of emotion sat, a well of knowledge he'd never seen before rose. There was no judgment, no fear. There was just Steve, and his hand extended out, ready to help him back onto his feet whenever he needed it.

Said hand clapped him on the shoulder, comforting even in its brevity. "I understand."

A throat cleared across the way, and Bucky turned to see Wilson nodding as well.

"We both do, bro," he told him, something akin to friendliness in his face. Accepting his fellow sergeant's words, he grabbed another peg, moving off to the far corner of the tent to anchor it in place. That time, the silence that followed didn't press on him, did suffocate him. Instead, it just was.

 **xXxXxXx**

Hours slid by, and before Steve knew it, the sun was setting. The people of Sokovia had places to stay, for the most part, shelter from the night and darkness. The tent city that he'd helped build with his team was it by hundreds of glowing lamps, pathways brightened between them and leading back to the hastily erected headquarters. Within, families were queuing up for amenities, and food, handed out by Pepper's crack team. The woman herself was all over the place, Fury likely chattering in one ear through a comm, Tony in the other, all while she helped assemble domiciles or instructed her supplier in England to ship items out immediately. However, as dusk settled around them, she was starting to slow down, along with the other relief workers. The final call for the return jet had sounded, and he could not ignore it. Despite his assurances to Holly, he had put off taking care of himself, instead sending his team back before him, determined to keep building and helping the civilians in need.

Now, though, with a growling stomach and a tiredness burning behind his eyes, he was willing to call it a day.

Only a handful of agents, along with Thor, rode back up with him, with everybody either too tired or too deep in thought to say a word. Once they landed on the outer deck, the occupants of the jet scattered, most of the operatives breaking off back to their rooms or to the mess hall. Cheered by the prospect of vittles, Thor had made his decision easily, but Steve was torn. In the end, he managed to get down the cafeteria, but merely nicked a couple sandwiches and called it good. It had been a long, hard day for them all, and it was time to let it end. Relying on his memory of the last time he was housed on the helicarrier, he jumped on the tram that went back to the quarters, munching on a sandwich idly. Through the plexiglass windows, he peered down into the hold as he passed, seeing the various drapings lashed over the tops of the lifeboats to simulate roof coverings and cots stretching from one side to the other. At least the Sokovians there would be safe for another night. The other sandwich was gone before he even made it to the door of his quarters, his body sagging in relief when he punched in the code (it hadn't been changed for three years; that might be something to look into later). Back to the almost-too-small bed, the bare walls...

The pretty brunette perched in the middle of it all, her wet hair dripping onto her clean t-shirt as she scrolled through her phone. That was a sight he was pleased to see; Holly had beaten him back to the quarters, unsurprisingly, and cleaned up. A knee brace was around one leg, but she didn't seem too perturbed about it. And she was wearing one of his shirts, in actual fact, the hem falling low as her legs stretched over the sheets. Her issued uniform had been abandoned, bundled atop her boots and shunted into a far corner. Upon hearing the swish of the door opening, she sat up, dropping her phone down. A tentative smile pulled at her lips, one that he reflected back at her, and her eyes flicked behind him briefly. When the door shut and locked into place, only then did she rise, giving him only a moment to unhook his shield from his harness and drop it to the ground before bounding into his arms. Holding her tightly against him, he nearly raised her off her feet, drawing her up for a deep, long kiss. The persistent ache in his heart had finally lessened, no more than a memory in that moment. She responded eagerly, lips parting beneath his with a sigh. When they eventually broke apart, her smile had widened significantly, hands splayed over the chest of his uniform, his fingers rubbing lightly along her back.

"It feels like it's been ages since we've been together," Holly whispered as her eyes closed, palms gliding up to his shoulders as he rested his forehead against hers. He nodded slightly, savoring the feeling of having her in his arms.

"It's been a long…four days," he trailed off, the fact dawning on him in that moment. It had seemed like the longest stretch of time, but in reality, it wasn't. "It's only been four days, holy cow."

"I know. So crazy, right?" she giggled sardonically, pressing her mouth to his cheek.

"Right," Steve replied, drawing back to look at her. "On both ends, so I hear."

Her eyebrows inclined, the smirk on her face dimming. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know that when debriefing comes in the morning, you have to be there, too."

A puff of breath came out then, and she canted her head. "Yep, you heard right, then."

"Care to let me know ahead of time?" he asked politely, half grin blooming on his face. "Hill hinted that it has to do with future endeavors and plans, but she wouldn't elaborate."

That was true; it was circulating the comms that the second-in-command had been working on a major project, backed by Potts and even supplemented by his own fiancée (her own words about being involved coming back to him), but the details were still under wraps for the time being. The needs of the displaced civilians and refugees had to come first, but it was on the schedule for discussion at the team meeting in the morning. Tony had tried to wheedle it out of his girl, but he had no such luck. Steve figured he may as well try his own. Holly shook her head, lifting a shoulder.

"I would, but I don't have all the information. I just have the stuff I've been working on, and it's just a small part of the whole. Sorry to say that you'll have to be patient, Steve." Off the flash of disappointment in his gaze, the droop of his head, she inhaled sharply. Her palms moved down his arms, unlacing them from around her back so she could hold his hands in hers. Meeting his eyes fully, she murmured, "I swear, I'm not deflecting or something."

The worry and nervousness she'd been holding back shot across her irises, her expression no longer impassive. Immediately, Steve let her hands go, cupping her face and gliding his thumbs along her jaw line in an effort to reassure her.

"I know, I know," he said, his tone gentle. The residual flare of anger spiked and dropped swiftly, replaced with the calm he had adopted earlier. "That's done."

For a few seconds, she scrutinized him, tracing every feature before her with her eyes. "You sure? Because you seemed really 'not okay' with it earlier."

He smiled ruefully. She had a point, an undeniable one, which he would not avoid.

"Yes. And you're right, I wasn't," he said, the dark dread crawling up his stomach, his throat. Swallowing hard against it, against the memory, he forced himself to go on. "Seeing you in the thick of it, close to the fight…it tore me up. Because sometimes, all it takes is one good shot, and…I, I didn't…"

His blue gaze had become unfocused, lost in the dream that had haunted him for days now. The sound of gunshots, the fall, her dying in his arms and not being able to do anything about it. Holly, watching the expression of horror and helplessness drift over his face, tipped his chin down, light touches skittering across his skin and her low commands for him to look at her eventually breaking through. Blinking, he was brought back to the present, to the pads of her fingers and her upturned face. Closing his eyes, he attempted to get his breathing under control, speaking again when he felt he had command over his faculties.

"But, like you said, it happened, and if it's your choice in the future…I'll find a way to accept it." With a sad smile, he shrugged his shoulders. He could make his stance known to Fury all he wanted, but at the end of the day, it was Holly's decision of what she wanted to do with her life. And if she wanted to throw herself into the fight, without being swayed to do so, then there was little he could do to stop her. Whether he liked it or not. "It's no less than what I've been asking you to do for me."

Openly gaping at him now, Holly let her jaw go slack for a moment or two. Of course, she loved him, but she wondered if perhaps he had taken leave of his senses. She would have joked about it, were it not for the dark intent in his face. He was being serious, absolutely serious. Recovering her tongue, she matched that intensity, her true aims striking hard.

"I know. I do. And I don't want it; I'm not cut out for it, not long-term. This isn't a job that I'm dying to be a part of, and definitely not one I'd die for. I'm not that crazy," she said, earning a choking laugh from him. She smiled wryly; she knew herself all too well, and so did Steve. An agent, she would never make. "I guess one of us has to be the boring and normal one."

"Which neither of us are," he countered, completely brushing aside the self-deprecating roll of her eyes. "Good thing; it'll keep our lives interesting, at least."

"I suppose," Holly intoned. After biting her lip for a moment, she looked at him, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. "What about the other thing? You know, that whole fight we were in the middle of when this crap started? Is that okay, too, or are we going to have to go into Round 3?"

Groaning under his breath, Steve brought a hand up, passing it over his face as she went on.

"Although, I think James coming around negates it. At least it gets me out of hot water."

"I'm not sore about it anymore, and I wouldn't be even if he hadn't come." He had thought they had laid the matter to rest before his traveling to Sokovia, but evidently, they hadn't. Or perhaps he had not fully conveyed his feelings on the matter. Truth was, after the messy affair with the visions and self-doubts, the delay of telling him about Bucky no longer incited frustration. Of course, Steve wouldn't deny that his arrival at the battle had eased something deep inside, but Bucky showing up did not erase the fact that he had let it go in those hours before. Whatever was hurt between them was mended. The skepticism in her gaze pulled him up short, made him reach out and lace her fingers with his. "Really. It's done."

Another period of quiet, their breathing punctuating the space and surrounding them. Finally, she dipped her chin in acceptance, wrapping her arms around him and laying her cheek against the star on his chest.

"Okay…" she said, enveloped by the heat of his body and treasuring it. Snorting, she mumbled, "When it comes to honesty and timeliness, it seems like I can only be good at one or the other."

"Let's opt for honesty in the future, then," he recommended, hands resting at her waist. "We're both fairly decent with that. Timing has always been hit or miss, in my experience."

"Fair enough," she giggled. A second or two later, Holly pulled back once more, jerking her chin up. "So…mind if I tell you something honestly?"

Shaking his head, Steve watched her warily as she bit her lip, her hooded eyes shooting a look at him. "Not at all."

"I honestly feel like you should get cleaned up, and take this uniform off," Holly told him, rising onto the balls of her feet and slipping her arms around his neck. She pressed all along his front, the brush of her hips pulling a moan out of him. "Right now."

"Is that all?" he asked, the husky tenor of his voice sending a shiver down her spine. Her lips hovered above his, teasing him as she smiled.

"Not remotely."

His grip tightened, sliding down and pulling her closer, his mouth barely brushing over hers in a ghost of a kiss. Exhausted though they both were, it seemed they were on their way to finding a second wind.

"Then it would be my pleasure, ma'am." His forehead creased as a rogue thought managed to break through the heat and the fire in his blood. "But, what about—"

A finger was placed against his lips, hushing him. Striding away from him, Holly reached into the bag still perched on the bench at the end of the bed. Unzipping the inner pocket, she retrieved something, light glinting off the square wrapper in her hand. Undamaged, not expired, and quelling the question he was about to pose. The question that was answered that way, and not by a tense, embarrassing trip to the nurses' station in the infirmary to pilfer from their supplies.

"Lookie what I found in my duffel," she bade him unnecessarily. When she was going through her bag to see what in the hell she actually stuffed into it, she'd discovered it, neatly tucked away and safe. Most likely it was put inside when she last traveled to visit him at the Tower, but it had made it all the way out there with them. Her dark eyes widened as she considered it, and she tossed her hair playfully. "It's just the one, though. Better make it count, soldier."

Steve's lusty smile became a hint predatory as he reached up for the fasteners at his neck, ready to do exactly as she told him.

 **xXxXxXx**

Though filled to the rafters, or thereabouts, the din of the people aboard the helicarrier had lessened to a calm buzz, lights blocked and shuttered for the sake of the refugees sleeping and resting in the hold. While it was not a true silence, it was enough to make him feel as though he were moving alone, unhindered.

Bruce had woken from his fugue state several hours ago, too numb and cold to do more than eat and let the other doctors in the infirmary examine him. Cuts were treated, and while he had no broken bones to speak of, he could feel their ache when he attempted to move. It had taken him a long time to sit up without aid, but soon enough he was on his feet, pondering what had happened.

As the Hulk, the fits of rage tended to block out coherent thoughts, and most feelings burned away as he smashed and destroyed everything in his path. Images, though, stuck around in his memory. The city, the flames...the sentries, the clash of metal against skin, man against machine. Rock and brick crumbling under him, pipes and playgrounds ripped apart in his rampage. Natasha's eyes screwed up in pain and shock as she fell under fire. Ultron's red gaze and hobble as he tried to escape the quinjet, and him. The crash...smoke choking him...

He had been carried out, rescued from the wreckage and borne away, one of the new arrivals bearing him to a lifeboat and to the EMTs stationed there. Or so he had been told; he had few visitors in his secluded room, but Nick Fury had been among the first, telling him all that had passed since he was thrown out of his Hulk state. That was good enough for him. He did not want company, did not seek it. Instructions were left at the door to leave him in peace, extending to his teammates, telling all those who sought him out that he was resting, recovering.

It was half the truth, and half a lie. He was recovering. Had recovered, in point of fact. But the rest of the time had been dedicated to thinking, considering. The pain and sorrow of the last few days weighed down on his shoulders, the man dealing with the aftermath of the monster as always. Bruce was tired, so tired, and he wanted nothing more than to rest. However, it eluded him, his brain going into overdrive once he regained control and not quieting. All his options were before him, few though they were, and he had a choice to make.

Clipped footsteps down the halls, up the metal stairwells, gave him away as he walked, a new set of clothes swathed around him, the sleeves of a jacket tied around his waist and a pack slung across his back. Without his asking, it had been placed just inside his door, left while he was stuck in his trance-like thought process. A note attached to the top told him there was money, a fake ID and passport, and other provisions inside, and that he was wished good luck, whatever he decided. The scrawl was looping, unfamiliar, though he had an idea of who had given it to him. His mind was made up before he even saw the bag, but upon finding it, he felt the desire to go rising faster.

On the deck, Bruce would be able to find one of the pilots, persuade them to take him down and drop him wherever they liked. He could find his own way; he had done so before.

"Heading out?" a feminine voice crowed behind him, making his heart rate climb dangerously. Jumping in his own skin, he turned around quickly, trying to calm his breathing. Natasha stood there, her suit exchanged for a sweater and loose pants, a hand pressed along the wall and taking the weight off her injured legs. Even limping, she was silent, stealthy to the last. It wasn't the sight of her wounded body that brought a lump to his throat, though.

It was the heartbreak in her eyes.

Coughing once, he felt himself shrink under that look, his own heart pattering in his chest. "Well..."

Her lips twisted in a facsimile of a smile, bitter and cold as snow. "If I had known, I would've gotten my things ready."

Bruce did not shirk or retreat from her gaze, meeting her pain with his own. "Natasha."

"No, no. I see how it is. I just...I thought..." The ripples of sorrow threatened to break free, but she waved them off, brushing them out of the space between them with her palm. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Safe travels."

Slowly, agonizingly, she turned away, taking a few hobbling steps back the way they'd come. After everything, the confessions, the hurt, the fights and the banter, the moments in which she exposed herself...it was coming to nothing. He was running, and she would be left behind. It was all for nothing.

"Nat." His voice stopped her in her tracks, made her spine stiffen as he spoke. "You have to understand. It's not that I don't care. You know I do. But—"

"But what?" she snapped, letting her layers fall away, letting him see exactly how much she was hurting. The onslaught of her pain made him physically jerk back, but she refused to temper it. She would let him see, make him know. A bead of water began to pool in one of her eyes, but she ignored it, focusing on the man in front of her. "If you care, and I...I care, then why—"

"Because it's not enough. It's not enough to justify running off into the sunset together, chasing a pipe dream." Bruce's tone was gentle, but his words were brutal, ripping her to shreds as he spoke. He was making her bleed, without leaving a mark. And, deep down, she knew he was doing the same to himself. "That's just a fantasy, an excuse to ignore who we both really are."

Whirling around, pushing down the throbbing in her legs, she snarled, "And what are we?"

The sorrow in his dark eyes cut through her, cracking the frustration and annoyance, cleaving them from her body with expert precision.

"We're broken, Natasha. And when it comes down to it, our pieces won't fit together. I need to do that for myself, and you do, too. Away from one another. I need to leave to fix this mess I've been avoiding for over four years. To not endanger you in the process. And you deserve better than to be party to that."

A feeling of deflation went through her then, the emptiness inside her growing with every breath. "Shouldn't that be my choice?"

"If you want to chase me down after tonight, that is your choice. But I'm not encouraging you to follow me. In fact, it...it would be better if you didn't," Bruce murmured, closing the gap between them. Looking down at her, he recalled the taste of her lips when she'd kissed him, the surge of good before falling into chaos. Once, twice, he shook his head. "You deserve better, Natasha. Someone more in line with you than...me. I'm sorry."

Words were lost to both of them by then, and he struggled to find the will to move away. It had to be done, he told himself, to protect her. To protect them both. No matter how much he wanted to fight against it. Natasha Romanoff, for the first time in a long while, conceded a stand-off, dropping her gaze and letting the man across from her continue to stare. To gaze on the newest set of broken pieces he had dealt to her. Tentatively, he reached out, fingers moving to tuck the strands of her fiery hair behind her ear. In an instant, she shuffled back, out of his reach, a layer of ice sliding over her eyes and through her body.

"Don't. Don't do that," she demanded, refusing his comfort and touch. Sighing softly, Bruce did as she requested, dropping his hand and tucking it into his pocket. Another beat of silence passed before he adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Dipping his chin, he let his gaze wander over her one last time, uncertain if he would ever see her again.

"Good-bye, Agent Romanoff."

Her head turned sharply to the left, her arms crossing over her chest and leaning her into the wall.

"Doctor Banner." It was a dismissal, her tone pushing back against the pain of his departure. She did not watch him go; the light tread of his footsteps made her want to scream, to cry out and call him back, but she bit her lips harshly to stop herself. She would not surrender her dignity for his farewell.

It felt like hours had passed as she stared at the far wall, seeing nothing but the blur of gray through a haze of unshed tears. Swallowing thickly, she dashed them away, clearing her throat and breathing out her nose in an attempt to soothe her frayed nerves. Turning to go back to her room, she noticed that the door to the quarters four feet away from her had opened, and someone was watching her as she stepped closer.

"What?" Natasha snarled, glaring at the gawker. Dark hair ruffled from tossing and turning, sharp blue eyes, sharp jaw stiff as she glowered at him. The Winter Soldier, peering around his door at her as if she had appeared out of nowhere and inserted herself someplace she didn't belong. She expected to find blankness on his face, or irritation for having the quiet broken.

But it wasn't the Winter Soldier who met her gaze. No, it was James Barnes, pink tinging his cheekbones as he endured her scrutiny. Two scars, one at her waist and the other on her shoulder, seemed to twinge faintly as he continued to stare back, and she nearly brought up her hands to cover them. It was hard, remembering to make the distinction between the cold-blooded killer and the recovering man before her, but with the bend of his posture, the fall of his hair across his brow and the uncomfortable glint in his gaze, it was easier to tell.

"Nothing," he said quietly, hands tucked into the pockets of his borrowed sweatpants. He shrugged his shoulders, the florescent light of the hall spilling across the metal arm and shining as he took a step back. "I'm sorry."

And he did look genuinely remorseful, the spring of untapped emotion at the back of his eyes. He must have heard the entire exchange—not on purpose, of course—and while he was still unsure about the workings of the world around him, he was at least able to express sympathy. But at that moment, Natasha wanted none of it. For the first time in a long while, she wanted the coolness of detachment, no messy feelings getting in the way and making her life skew out of control. Making her human again, and not merely the Black Widow. So, in response to his words, she said the first thing that came to mind.

" _Piss off, shithead_ ," she rattled in her mother tongue, raising a finely-shaped eyebrow as she began to walk away again. Thinking she had compelled him to silence, she was surprised to hear his hard snort, and when she glanced over her shoulder at him, she watched him roll his eyes.

" _Bitch Queen_ ," he snapped right back in Russian. Leaning against the door frame, he pivoted to watch her go, eyes tracking her with concern. In English, he continued, "I didn't mean any harm."

An acerbic grin came to her lips, the winter of her eyes not thawed in the slightest. "This time."

That time, he let her reach the end of the hall without comment, keeping an ear out for her in case he heard her stumble and fall. She was strong, though, strong enough to withstand her injuries for that long. When her tread could not longer be detected, Bucky blew out a slow breath, combing back hair and shaking his head again.

"Whatever," he grumbled under his breath, the redhead's fiery gaze staying with him long after he went back into his room, sitting in his mind as the night wore on. "Dames."

* * *

 **A/N:** Got a lot of reunions and discussions in this chapter. And departures.

When I said I had plans for Bruce, I meant that I planned for him to actually tell Natasha that their thing was over before flying off into the unknown without her. She was owed a real good-bye, and not the crap that Bruce put her through in the movie. And so Brutasha ends...I'm strangely comfortable with it.

Good to see a lot of you were on the same page as me regarding the comics atrocity that's going on at the moment. I can guarantee you right now: my version of Steve does not and never will have ties to HYDRA as an operative. Screw that noise. Although, I'm glad that a bunch of you enjoyed the last chapter, at least. :)

Holy crap, this chapter is so freaking long. I can't promise the ones after it will be this length, but I hope you were able to stick with it. Next chapter, a lot of plans get tossed around, and decisions have to be made...also, I know a bunch of you are waiting on the wedding to happen, and it will...but not yet! I hope this will suffice in the meantime!

I own nothing from the MCU/Marvel and Pepper Potts' R.E.S.C.U.E., _Agents of SHIELD,_ or any other pop culture references that may or may not be mentioned.

I'm just going to take a moment and thank all of you for sticking with me thus far. This story really wouldn't have gotten as far as it has without you; I appreciate every single favorite, follow, and review, truly. Thank you guys so much for your continued support and reading. You all rock. :)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

 **EDIT, 6/9/15:** In case any of you are still curious about that one time about the "interesting language" that Holly hinted about coming out of Steve's mouth...well, Ive written about it. In all its explicit glory. It can be found at my AO3 account, under the title, _On the Double_. Check it out, if you're of age and interested. I have the same username as here-PhantomProducer.


	30. Chapter 30

The following day dawned, though one could not make the argument that it was any brighter than it had been the few days previous. However, it did dawn a shade or two safer, and for that Steve Rogers was pleased. Well, he was more pleased to wake up in a bed, the still-snoozing form of his fiancee draped across him (the lack of space was good for something, at least; it gave them the excuse to be closer to one another) and the combined warmth of their bodies pushing out the cold that had invaded in their time apart. Nudging Holly awake was not easy, and she protested against getting up by snuggling against his chest, her bare leg slipping between his. Kisses upon his skin made him groan, turn her underneath him, reciprocate in kind—though not to the full extent that they both would have liked. Still, he and she made due. Distracted for a time, they eventually rose, switching off turns in the freezing shower to prepare for the meeting they and the team were all asked to attend. Required, really, but Fury had a way of dressing up the words to make it sound like he was asking, at least.

As he went to brush his teeth and shave, Steve caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror, the discoloration at the side of his neck grabbing his attention. The bright purple and red of first marking had faded a bit, but it was still highly noticeable. Snickering quietly, he turned around, sticking his head out the bathroom door and clearing his throat. Holly, who had been pulling out her papers and piling them with her laptop, looked up and inclined her eyebrows in question. Wordlessly, he pointed at the splotch on his skin, his own brow raised and smirk stretching his lips. Barking out a laugh, she responded by pulling at the neck of her sweater, revealing the one he'd left along her collarbone and showing him that he was just as guilty as her. The light dancing across her irises erased any possible irritation he might have felt at showing up to debriefing with a visible hickey, and he went back to getting ready again.

When they finally arrived in the small office designated for the meeting, a few of the others nodded greetings or said tired hellos. Stark, for his part, looked as though he were ready to nod off, a hand propped under his chin as he sat at the far end of the table that dominated the space. Cups of coffee ringed around him, the carafe in the room joined by a second as Maria deposited it on the far counter. The billionaire was in low-voiced conference with Rhodey, the smattering of their discussion seeming to be the repairs that Tony would ultimately have to undertake for both suits. The Vision was absent, as well as the twins, with Pietro still laid up in the infirmary for the time being and the other two making rounds with the agents in the hold. Across the room, Bucky stood stiffly, his arm under dubious inspection by the god of thunder, a grimace on his lips as Thor examined it. The jump of muted embarrassment and anger in his face almost made Steve intervene, but the ex-assassin shook his head in a quick denial; he could handle it, and besides, Thor was not asking questions, just looking. Two spaces were left open between Clint and Sam at the table, and so Steve, with his palm pressing into Holly's back (having never dropped contact on their way there), guided them over to the chairs. As Holly dropped her things onto the tabletop, she slung an arm around Clint's shoulders, relieved to see her erstwhile instructor alive and well. As the captain went to the coffee carafe, Hill was depositing packets of papers around to the others, gesturing for Holly to get her things set up as quickly as could be. He returned with two foam cups of straight black caffeine, shrugging when his fiancee winced at the sight. Function over form, he'd reasoned to himself, and the undiluted coffee would serve its function in waking her up fully, at least.

"Sleep well, Cap?" Sam asked politely after a few moments, his face a mask of calm and placidity. However, it was belied by the mischievous glint in his eye, his gaze flicking downward for a second or two. Glancing over at him, the captain sniffed, and Wilson merely shrugged a shoulder. Even if he weren't sporting the mark on his neck, he would've had an idea of how his leader's night had gone, anyway. Though slightly fatigued, the couple had looked far too satisfied for a night spent on the upgraded cots they all were forced to have.

Adopting the same air of nonchalance, Steve nodded, turning over one of the papers in the stack before him. "Yes, thanks for asking."

Clint choked down a laugh, dropping the leg he'd crooked over the arm of the chair to the floor. He witnessed the spring of pink in Holly's cheeks at Sam's implications, and he couldn't resist piling on.

He leaned sideways towards her, muttering in a mock whisper, "You know, one could make the argument that you defaced government property."

The younger woman rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth quirking up as she fired up her laptop. "Oh, that joke never gets old."

"Ah, repeat offender, are we?"

Holly shrugged, the smirk stretching as she tapped at the keyboard. "If I have to go to jail for that, then so be it."

A hand curled around her thigh then, squeezing gently, and she looked away from her computer screen in time to catch the grin on Steve's lips as he perused his papers. His thumb began to brush back and forth along the material of her pants, though his focus remained elsewhere. Sighing softly, Holly patted his hand once before returning to typing. She could feel the blood in her face heat up, and she was never more glad for the fact the tabletop in that office was, for once, opaque wood.

A snort echoed across the room, the shuffle and thump of another person taking a seat following after. "So juvenile."

The sharp tone in the feminine voice pulled the captain's attention up from his dossier. Holly, hearing the snap in the words, seemed to shrink slightly in her seat, and she merely set her jaw and stared at the screen in front of her. Furrowing his brow, he dipped a chin in the new arrival's direction.

"And good morning to you, too, Natasha."

Tony perked up then, his dark eyes roaming over the ex-agent and noting the open seat beside her. Sitting up straighter, he asked suddenly, "Where's Banner?"

An uncomfortable silence settled around them for a moment or two, with Natasha languidly turning the pages in her packet and saying nothing. Clearing her throat, Maria decided to speak up. "Gone. On an indefinite leave of absence."

The announcement was met with a level of charged quiet. Some, such as Sam and Rhodey, sported looks of mild confusion, while others like Stark had an expression of shock and hurt on their faces. Shooting a glimpse at Natasha, Steve could see her face was utterly blank. But it wasn't her expression he was looking it; rather, he watched the storm in her eyes, the tempest that was held at bay due to years of denial and control. The pain she was taking so much trouble to hide irked him, made him feel affronted on her behalf. He cared for both of them, of course, but he knew Nat better, knew that she was going to withdraw inward once more, walls up and outer shell defending the one that was torn down inside. Behind her, Bucky shifted against the wall, his blue eyes focusing on the toe his boot and his thumbs hooking into the pockets of his pants.

Finding his tongue first, the captain wondered, "Where to?"

"He didn't say," Hill returned carefully, a swift glance cutting towards Romanoff and then away again. "For all we know, he could be headed to Fiji."

"Watch out for a postcard," the redhead intoned woodenly, the finality in her voice shutting down the topic. A look of sympathy was shot over the edge of Holly's computer screen, but it went unnoticed, and wisely she said no more. A heavy tramp of boots in the hall preempted further conversation, with Nick Fury ducking inside, taking a seat at the head of the table. Straightening his black jacket around his frame, he glanced around the room and dipped his chin in greeting, meeting the captain's steady blue gaze for a second or two.

"Alright, people," he crowed, leaning back in his seat, assuming command of the room as if he were born to do so. "I've had my first cup of coffee, we're still in the air, and nothing's blown up yet; let's call it good and move on from there."

Taking the cue (before anyone could do more than stare at him and his assumptions), Maria Hill asked for the team to collectively report on the events of the battle in full, noting them down with a speech-to-text function activated on her tablet. The report would be filed away for the time being, but to have an official record of events was needed for both the archives and for future inquiries. It was succinct and to the point, both sides from the Avengers and the helicarrier meeting for a comprehensive report. An official release was being prepared for the public. Any and all implications regarding the Avengers' involvement would be restricted to them answering a global threat brought on by HYDRA. It was a cover, as the nuances of what had happened could have terrible implications for Stark and Banner in particular, but it was a cover that would be accepted. One could make the case that it truly was a HYDRA threat that had ultimately pushed Ultron into being; they were researching failed attempts at and technologies to create him after all. The true story was known by a select few higher-ups, and would remain with them. For the time being.

When the subject of the continuing efforts being made for the Sokovians was addressed, Hill nodded to Holly, who had her laptop hooked up to a projector. Between the two of them, they explained how, from that moment forward, the team was to be regarded as something like a nonprofit organization, working in conjunction with like-minded companies to better aid any and all future refugees and displaced peoples who had suffered due to collateral damage. Several major companies had already agreed, connecting with Pepper Potts and them to begin bringing in crews and workers to start rebuilding. With them actively participating and giving back, public opinion was markedly improving, and so it was implied that they would have to continue doing so in the future. Though they had never lost the good opinion of the people of the world, this went a long way to keep conditions better than they were before. Holly pointed out, due to her own efforts, that several colleges were coming forth, willing to work in tandem for the promise of notoriety and giving students real world experience in the daily operations at the base, should they be willing to accept the terms. Jane Foster had sent her an email, telling her that Culver and the University of London were well on their way to total agreement, while she herself had reached out to her own alma mater. More would come when such plans were solidified, but they all showed promise.

Many showed great faith in the cause of the Avengers, and many were willing to stand by them, and by others in need due to their actions, so long as they continued their recent efforts to reach out.

Most of the team took the new developments in stride, but secretly they were in awe of what had been done right under their noses. The plans laid down would not only protect and help the people, it would help and protect them. Seeing the underlying layer of truth, Steve turned his head to his girl, stunned by her attempts on their behalf, on his behalf. There was a sacrifice he had not expected her to make, nor would he have demanded it of her. But there she was, pointing out the acceptance of UNICEF and others waiting to spring into action, deferring to Hill when she had to, but still standing firm. A great swell of feeling rose in his heart for what she'd done, for what she was willing to do.

It would take more than several companies backing them up, however, to reaffirm their place in the world, and keep them safe. Particularly after the disastrous turn of events surrounding Ultron and Sokovia, they would need something more. Rhodey pointed out as much, and Fury had concurred. Which was why, he explained, that they had finally achieved endorsement at one of the highest possible levels. A proposal was put forth on their behalf, already put before the major nations, and sponsored by someone who very much stood by them. With that, Fury turned off the projector, tapping at a keypad of his own to another channel. An older woman, her silvered blonde hair combed neatly to her shoulders, swam into view, hands folded atop her own desk, her tired gray eyes taking in the sight of them all. Her mouth curled up into a facsimile of a smile, noting how a few of them took in sharp breaths of recognition.

"The Avengers' U.N. representative, Pamela Hawley," he provided the introduction, smirking at the former World Security Councilwoman. After the demise of SHIELD, and her fellow councilors, she'd been biding her time, an unobtrusive presence in the field of world politics. Still, it would not do for such a woman to be kept in the background for too long, and Nick had known that. She'd not always agreed with his choices, or with the team's actions, but she had come to recognize their legitimacy and the need for their presence in the world, and wanted to represent their interests. Natasha's spine stiffened as she looked upon the screen, darting a glance to Rogers before tipping her head in greeting.

"Ma'am," Steve murmured aloud, the rest of the team's hellos echoing after.

"Captain, Agent Romanoff, everyone," she returned, tipping her chin up. Shifting the ream of papers at her fingertips, she began to examine the listed bullet points on the sheet. Much of it went against the norm; much of everything the Avengers was against the norm, as far as the rest of the world was concerned. Policies and rules were altered daily, and such was the same with them.

"The proposal put forth by Director Fury and Ms. Hill on your behalf has largely been accepted. However, there are a few matters that need discussion," she said, her accented voice lilting as she perched a pair of reading glasses on her nose. "First, is the roster of your team."

Steve glanced around the room, his shoulders squared as he said, "There's nothing wrong with the team as a whole, ma'am."

"This is not about the worthiness of the members, Captain. It is that the world feels there isn't enough adequate representation, at home and abroad. They are asking for expansion, new candidates...in short, another team," Hawley told them, stunning them further. "You will hold overarching command, but they will be able to act independently to meet threats as needed. It has been deemed necessary to diversify, and to have adequate global coverage, with yours in the western hemisphere and the other in the eastern."

"More?" Clint mouthed across the table to Thor, the god shaking his head in response. Far be it from him to comment upon the inner workings of Midgardian politics. The older woman went on, adjusting the glasses on her nose and peering to Nick.

"I understand that Director Fury has a list of potential recruits to look through?"

Fury nodded, studiously avoiding the incredulous stares directed at him. "I do. We intend to check them out thoroughly and get back to you as quickly as possible."

"Excellent. I look forward to hearing of your choices. Now, the second item they wanted to confer about is the effectiveness of your relief efforts after major disasters. If you are to continue to act independently, they require you to take responsibility for collateral damage, I.E. property damage, injured civilians, et cetera. Bringing in other relief-based companies is a start, but they also wish to have you personally participate in the efforts where and when you can from now on," the representative pointed out.

"Which we've already been doing," Natasha replied, her bright eyes fastening on the other woman.

"Somewhat. The people of Johannesburg beg to differ. And Seoul." At that, her eyebrows rose minutely. "I trust that the situation will be remedied and there will be representation there soon?"

"It's already on the way, ma'am, and once Sokovia is secure, we'll head out to the other places to oversee their progress as well," Maria confirmed, when the others did no more than look to one another for an answer. Hawley shifted in her seat on her end, a little private smile cropped up. She was no fool; she knew that for such proposals to land in her lap with such speed meant that it was more than likely only a select few knew of the existence of such things. All this meeting was telling her was who was privy to it or not. Further matters were discussed, with debate going back and forth amongst the members of the team, the director of SHIELD and his second-in-command, compromises and agreements reached as time went on. Soon enough, she reached the final point on her list, and sighed.

"Lastly, we come back to the matter of Sokovia and certain events preceding it. While your judgment has been deemed good overall, Captain Rogers, I regret to inform you that the United Nations do not feel the same way about everyone on your team." The very air in the room was tense as Hawley took a breath, drinking from a glass of water near at hand before continuing. "Due to their actions before and during the last several days, they have asked that Mr. Anthony Stark and Doctor Bruce Banner be placed on probation for a minimum of three months at your behest, during which they abstain from any and all participation in missions, trials, and such in the field."

"What?!" Sam's head snapped up at that, his dark gaze darting from the screen to the billionaire. Tony's head was bowed, his nostrils flaring as he took in deep breaths, hands pressed hard against the tabletop.

"They can't interfere with their places on the team; they have no right to. It's unacceptable," the captain stated firmly, chin up and back straight. Under the table, Holly placed a hand around his wrist, his fists clenched tightly in his lap. Concern creased her face, but as she had through much of the representative's speech, she remained as a silent observer.

Hawley let her head tilt to the left, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Perhaps, Captain."

He shook his head. Though he certainly didn't agree with Tony and Bruce's actions, he did not believe that they should have to lose their places on the team, even temporarily, for a mistake. A mistake they worked tirelessly to rectify, at that. "I'm serious. They didn't mean to—"

The representative shook her head. "What they meant to do is irrelevant. What's important is that it happened at all. The United Nations has been willing to concede to the Avengers World proposals, but this is one of their main sticking points." She turned to look at Stark, the softness in her eyes contradicting the harsh set of her face. "Mr. Stark, your erratic and irreverent behavior over the last five years alone would have given them pause, but this has shown them that you have gone beyond expectation, and not in a good way. And as for Doctor Banner...you have heard of the debate of whether or not he should be arrested for his loss of control in Johannesburg. I have spent the last several hours talking them down from it; believe me, it was no sinecure. This was their compromise."

Hawley shared a glance with Nick Fury, both of them well aware of the downplay of her words and the disgust surfacing in their eyes. The ex-councilwoman, unbeknownst to them, had to shout down the Secretary of Defense, the irate, irrational man refusing to budge on his stance no matter what the rest of the world said. How such a fellow with an obvious grudge had made it that far into the political realm was unknown to her, but she was determined to not let him cow her. She now understood why Fury was so adamant about not including General Ross in any projects or initiatives back in the day. In the end, she carried the day, but she still had walked away bleeding. Metaphorically, of course.

Turning her attention back to Steve, whose jaw was stiff and immovable, she murmured, "I understand your loyalty and your passion, Captain Rogers. I have made the U.N. more than aware that to interfere with one is to interfere with all. And to penalize you, or limit you, could potentially mean the loss of the team as a whole. That is something they do not wish to do; they would rather work with you all on acceptable terms." Eyes flicked at the screen, from one Avenger to another, punctuating her words with each glance. "It is a suggestion, a strong one, but a suggestion nonetheless. You all have been granted immunity to travel and protect the world. They do not want to regret the choice to do so, so soon."

A beat of silence passed, in which the team and its leader said nothing. The ice in Steve's eyes had tripled, and he was about to make his stance clear when a cough cut through the air, making him pause.

Tony, arms folded around his middle, raised his head and spoke, his voice strong despite the hunch of his form. "Tell them we accept the terms of the probation in full."

Stunned, the others stared at his capitulation, his submission to authority something they had never seen before. But more than that, it was the look of absolute defeat that stilled any arguments to the contrary. Tony Stark was tired, and defeated. He would not fight, not this time.

"Tony..." Steve trailed off, unsure of what to say to him.

"Very well, Mr. Stark. You'll see to it that Doctor Banner is informed?" Hawley asked him, receiving only a slight inclination of the head in answer. Finally, the meeting was adjourned, the team members within going to their separate tasks. Tony shot out the door swiftly, before any of them could stop him. Glancing to Holly, Steve shared a wordless exchange with his fiancee, her nod for him to go met with a grateful peck on her temple before he did just that. Tripping out the room, the captain traversed the corridors of the helicarrier, make a few quick turns and narrowly avoiding other passing agents before he finally caught up to the retreating billionaire.

"Tony, hold on," Steve called out, hand reaching out and gripping Tony's arm in an attempt to halt him. It had the desired result, for even as Stark shook him off, he stopped. The other man exhaled sharply, carding a hand through his dark hair. The myriad of emotions running across his face flashed by too quickly to name them all, but chiefly among them was disappointment, pain, and resignation.

"Look, Cap, I know what you're gonna say, and frankly, I don't need to hear it. Contrary to popular belief, I do know what I'm doing. It's not worth jeopardizing the whole enterprise over this," Tony sighed heavily, scratching at the healing cut by his left eye. The dismal look on his face did not soften, but he would not renege on what he said. "I'm not going to let what's being offered get snatched away because I'm a prideful prick. Good thing Banner took off before this happened; at least he'll be able to fulfill his obligations either way, right?"

The last words were meant to be humorous, but they didn't even get a chuckle out of the captain. Instead, Steve felt the slightest edge of sadness creep into his vision.

"It's not...you're not..."

"You're right, I'm not. I think I need to not, for awhile." Tony shuffled his feet, shrugging his shoulders. "Truth be told, they kinda...beat me to the punch as it is."

Another revelation, another surprise for Steve that morning. "What?"

"After we got everything taken care of over here, I was gonna take a break for awhile. I need some time to get my head on straight," Stark said, his voice pitching deeper as he exposed the truth. "Hasn't been for a really long time. And Pepper...well, I know she wants me to...get some perspective on it all. This will make her happy."

"I don't agree with that."

The billionaire smirked at that, rolling his eyes. "When do you ever agree with me?"

"More often than you think," Steve replied, his hands going into his pockets as he looked at the floor for a few moments. "For the record, I didn't want this. Despite our differences in opinion. Despite...everything."

"I know, Steve. It's probably for the best, though. Besides, three months ain't that long. You can't get rid of me that easily."

Steve snickered at that. "True."

"And I'll have more time to tinker. Create some cool stuff that's been sitting on the back burner," Tony said, determinedly forcing himself to look on the bright side. With the enforced break, he could do so many things he'd been putting off. And maybe, just maybe, he'd start taking care of himself, as Pepper had so often begged him to do. He flapped a hand in the air, brushing off the concern still hovering around him. "It'll be fine."

While the captain said nothing, the sentiment in his expression told him how much he hoped that would be the case.

 **xXxXxXx**

Time, now that it was not at the command of an unruly and murderous automaton, seemed to move more fluidly around Holly. She fell into her work on-board the helicarrier, occupying herself from thinking of the troubles that still awaited her back home. When not attending to some task put forward to her by the refugees' caretakers, she alternated between contacting Jane and Pepper about their advancements with the charities they'd involved in the rebuilding efforts and visiting people in the infirmary. There she would find the Vision, more often than not, a silent entity watching over the injured and defenseless, looking on them as though he was trying to better understand the fallacies of the human body, learn from the people around him. While not specifically tasked to it, he was near at hand to converse with Pietro, his sister close by and looking over all with her curious, bright eyes. Holly didn't go out of her way to ingratiate herself with them; honestly, the trio of newcomers made her nervous, despite having proved themselves to be able allies. Green and electric blue gazes on her, even when she did take the time to try and be friendly, seemed to know her exact sentiments, but never held them against her.

No, Holly instead could be found at least once a day in the small room down the hall, housing the injured little girl she'd helped extract from the wreckage of her home, conversing with her in an effort to distract her from the pain of her broken leg. Once Dasha had overcome her weariness and fear, she turned out to be quite amiable. She liked to play games, draw fantastical pictures on any given surface, and she greatly enjoyed animated films. Holly had worn down the battery on her phone from pulling up whatever Disney film that struck the girl's fancy the first day, her eagerness at watching them allowing her to forget, for a time, the horror that had been dealt to her country and her people. Sometimes Kay would drop by, her protective layer dropped whenever she spent time with the kid, who greatly admired her blue hair and always wanted to braid it or otherwise dress it up.

Her aunt, having come up from the city's remains as promised, would be there, helping translate the little girl's pronouncements when she fell back into her mother tongue. Lena, as she was called, was given leave to watch over her niece, since work had been ground to a screeching halt. Her dark hair and similar facial features placed her as a direct blood relative, but Holly did not ask anymore about it. It would be prying, and she didn't want that.

Two mornings after the attack on Sokovia, Holly had received a message summoning her to the medical bay. After giving her fiance a farewell kiss and dressing quickly, she traveled the halls swiftly, the gray walls churning by in familiarity now. Approaching the small room, she saw Dasha there, seated in a wheelchair outside the door with a bag in her lap. Her aunt was speaking in a rapid undertone to the medic, questions flying quickly, though her gaze flicked over to her as she came closer.

"Ms. Korbel...Lena?" Holly asked tentatively, wondering why she had been asked to come. Her eyebrows quirked up as Lena dipped her chin at the doctor, dismissing him. Patting Dasha on the shoulder as she passed, she sighed when the little girl merely concentrated on the pad of paper in hand, tracing something avidly.

"Yes. Thank you for coming," the other woman said, the accent of her voice lacing her words. Her face creased in a worn smile as she came forward; it had been a harrowing few days, and nobody was about to deny that. Tipping her head back to her niece, she told her, "Dasha has been discharged. We are free to go. She wanted to say good-bye."

Holly's eyes widened, nodding her understanding. Inclining her head towards the little girl, she waited until Lena flicked her fingers toward her, giving her leave to go to her. Stepping up to the wheelchair, she crouched down a little, meeting the child's eye as she looked up.

"Hey, Dasha. I hear you'll be leaving soon?"

Dark hair shifted and swung as Dasha confirmed the truth that statement. "Yes, we go to _dom babičky_."

Holly must have looked confused, for Lena gently cut in to explain. "Grandmother's house. In the capital. We'll live there while they rebuild."

A form of guilt washed over Holly then, but she managed to push it back with a tiny grin. "I bet she'll be glad to see you."

Circumstances notwithstanding, her brain muttered to her as the big brown eyes before her glanced away. Inwardly, she chided herself for being less than savvy in her speech, but she maintained her pleasant expression as best she could.

Another nod, and the child's mouth turned down a little at the corners. "I want to say bye before we go."

"And thank you," Lena supplied, going to her niece's side. As the young girl looked at her questioningly, she continued, _"Ďakujem_. _V angličtine_ , Daria. Like before."

"Oh..." she trailed off, screwing up her brow for a moment and speaking as her aunt bid her. "Thank you."

"No problem, really. You're welcome," Holly corrected herself, patting the girl's arm and feeling a slight tug in her heart. Thinking for a moment, she held out her hands, asking silently if she could take the small notebook and pencil from Dasha. When it was handed to her, she opened it to a fresh sheet of paper, her scrawl tidy enough for the seven-year-old to understand. "Here. This is my email address. You should message me and let me know how you're doing. How things at your grandma's are, and stuff like that. You could write to me in English, maybe teach me some of your language, too."

The sadness that had been ever-present in the kid's eyes seemed to melt slightly, hopefulness blooming in her irises as she shot a look to her aunt.

" _Prosím_ , Lena?"

The older woman deliberated for a moment, a crooked smile stretching her lips as both the little girl and American woman looked up to her

" _Áno_. Yes, she can," she told Holly, stepping back as the little one leaned forward. Draping her arms around Holly's shoulders, she whispered her farewells in her ear, gathered up for a brief moment in the other woman's embrace. When she was finished, Lena canted her head to the right, gesturing for Holly to walk with her a short distance away. The lightness in her face and tone were planed away with each passing step, solidity and seriousness weighing them down. "Thank you, again, for saving her."

A shoulder lifted, and Holly glanced at her feet. "You're welcome."

"I mean it," she insisted, suddenly reaching out and taking Holly's hands. Her fingers gripped hard, relaying her true feelings better than the expression of her face could. Head drooping, she muttered, "Daria, she's all we have left of my sister, and to almost lose her, too...thank you."

The shine of unshed tears in her eyes pulled Holly up short, the lump in her throat growing and making it difficult to swallow. This, this was what justified her agreement to go through with aiding the people in accordance to Hill and Fury's wishes. She may not have done much in the grand scheme of things, but at least she was able to do this: keep a family together.

"No problem, Lena," she intoned, heartfelt and honest. For a second or two, she glanced away, chewing her lip. "Can I do anything else?"

There really wasn't much she could actually do for them, but perhaps she could...she didn't know. Put in a good word, attempt to work out a deal for financial support for the two? She could try, and there was no harm in that. Gently, Lena shook her head, smiling dimming.

" _Nie_...no. Enough has been done," she remarked, withdrawing her hands and folding them behind her. For her part, Holly tucked hers into her pockets, both of them fastening their eyes elsewhere than on each other. Sighing, the older woman continued, "I only hope it won't stay this way too long."

"Not if they can help it."

"They?" Lena half laughed, hooking a thumb down the hall towards a set of agents scurrying by. "Are you not one of them?"

Snorting, Holly canted her head in the negative. "God, no. But they don't want this for your people, either, and will do what they can."

The skeptical glance shot her way spoke volumes, but since she did not outright reject the idea, Holly took it as a positive sign.

"I hope you're right."

With a final dip of the head, Lena moved away from her, back to her niece. Both of them waved once more to the young woman, the aunt gripping the handles of the chair and turning the girl away. The creak of cycling wheels and tapping feet faded away as they rounded a corner, departing from the helicarrier. For a long moment, Holly was left in silence, leaning against the wall, her arms around her middle and her eyes focusing on nothing. A presence surfaced behind her after awhile, her stiffness lessening when she recognized the intruder's voice as she spoke.

"I hope you're right, too."

Holly glanced over her shoulder, shrugging a little as Kay came closer. "If I'm wrong, then at least one person will be able to ream me out for it later."

"Make that two," the agent corrected her with a chuckle. Maintaining her grin, she went on, "Trust me, I'm keeping my eye on you, Martin."

The other woman frowned, her shoulders hunching at the implication. Another observer, another person nosing into her business. Noting the calm gleam in the agent's dark eyes, her tension dissipated further.

"Why not? Other people watch me; might as well have someone in the crowd I can tolerate," she mused aloud, shooting her a wry grin. Though mostly a bitter joke, she did at least think Kay would be one of the few who would look on her kindly, more kindly than the rest of the general public. They had worked in close proximity for the last couple of days, and though they'd had moments of discord, the two seemed to genuinely get along. Maybe having her watching her back wouldn't be all that bad.

Kay tossed her hair and lifted her chin, smiling broadly and not in the least perturbed by her statement. "That's one way to look at it."

Gesturing with an open palm, she allowed Holly to step ahead of her, both women moving in companionable silence out of the infirmary back to the hanger bay, where more work awaited them.

 **xXxXxXx**

The meetings didn't end after that first day. There was a lot to consider, reorganize, now that the Avengers had changed their role in the world once more. As a functioning worldwide, endorsed response team, they had to restructure their very makeup from the inside out. Tony Stark, as he was technically grounded, worked on blueprints and data recovered, speaking with building teams stateside to form a new base of operations for the team. An old storage warehouse in upstate New York was being outfitted, sent out to replace and build what was necessary for training and housing the team, as well as setting up offices for the returning support agents. Have them moved away for the duration of his probationary period cut back on the temptation of breaking the rules, and in truth, a base that far out would be more secure than a bright, beacon-like tower in the middle of one of the most populated cities in the United States.

In between relief shifts down on the surface, Rogers was debating with Fury, looking over confidential files and drawing up names for the additional branch of the team. Locations for their separate base were to be scouted, considerations to be made about compatibility and personal goals of the elected members themselves. Interviews, if one could call them such, were being conducted on and off, the plan being to get them installed and ready for training as swiftly as possible. However, Steve made no decisions without the consult of his own team, gauging their reactions and impressions of the select few who were being considered. Fury made no objections to it; after all, he was not the leader of the teams in question, and he trusted the judgment of these people. It simply gave him the space and time to discuss other things, with other people.

It was during one of those private meetings, when the captain took the one called Barton and the agent Romanoff aside to pour over the file of an M.I.T. graduate and Olympiad in training (though socially deficient and low on patience), that Fury took it upon himself to call up another person to discuss future options. It was with surprise that when Steve returned, he found Bucky coming out of the director's personal office, thoughtfulness in his eyes and his jaw tight. Furrowing his brow in question, his old friend shrugged a shoulder, leaning back against the far wall and crossing his arms.

"I spoke with Fury, about my...efforts," he said quietly, a corner of his mouth turning up in self-deprecation. "Must've done something right. He wants to keep me around, work for him."

Shock entered Rogers' gaze, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. Of all the things Fury could want to discuss with Bucky, he had not imagined that. "Yeah?"

Barnes nodded, his head drooping as he recalled the conversation. "But I have to undergo rehabilitation to do so. Minimum of six months."

Steve exhaled slowly, watching as he worked his jaw. No doubt Barnes considered enforced rehabilitation to be unnecessary, but he was not of the same opinion. Regardless of the past spent as a nameless, emotionless assassin, Bucky was still a man who was born in a different era, without the buffer of time to soften the point. Granted, he'd had access to technology and such whenever he was unfrozen for his duties, but that did not mean he had a great understanding of the world around them any longer. Even with the vast differences between what had brought them both into the modern era, he could easily relate to the confusion, the feelings of loss, whether or not his old friend admitted to them.

"That sounds about right. I had to do it; I wasn't allowed to work for SHIELD otherwise, let alone function in the world," he confessed, brushing off the the swift snap of Bucky's gaze. It was true; in between the Battle of New York and taking up residence in D.C., he was given a similar offer, to take command a specialized team within SHIELD. The same stipulation was given to him, and while he had misgivings about it all, he still went through with it. The rehabilitation got him up to speed, enough to allow him to function, at least. A hand cupped the air and he allowed himself a wry grin. "Had something to do with being frozen for almost seventy years and being woefully behind on the times."

For his part, Bucky managed a small smirk, but it disappeared rapidly. "He told me therapy was a requirement, too, or he'd rescind the offer."

"Did that, as well. Still do, on occasion," the captain murmured, his chin dropping. The same was true of Clint, and Natasha, and anyone who worked for the organization. It was nearly as common amongst agents as using the training facilities or attending horribly boring debriefing meetings. Yes, he hadn't been to see his therapist for quite some time, but that wasn't to say that he had anything against the whole idea. In the past, the notion of regularly maintaining visits with a psychiatrist or psychologist had more negative implications, but it was not so now. After all this, perhaps he should schedule himself for an appointment, and maybe pass the information along to Holly. He could feel her twitch and turn as she slept the last couple of nights, her own dreams shaking him awake just as much as his had done in the past. Staring at the toe of his boot, he continued, "It helps to be able to talk to someone, to process and survive the present."

"Hmm," was the only answer Bucky gave, his arms tightening.

"You gonna take him up on it?"

"I don't know. I don't have a whole lot of other options," the ex-assassin said, outlook on the future bleak. The honesty was harsh, cutting deep into him. Looking up, he met Steve's gaze fully. "And I'm...I'm tired of hiding, and running."

It was exhausting, constantly looking over his shoulder, always suspecting the worst and never receiving the best. It was hard, seeking redemption with no actual avenue to obtain it. At that rate, he would end up in some hole in the wall place, remembering everything he'd ever done and killing himself slowly, from the inside, broken and beaten. It was not what he wanted, deep down.

"When would he want you to start?" the captain inquired, shifting his eyes to the closed door of the office just a few feet away.

Bucky breathed carefully, flicking a few fingers into the air. "Immediately. Once things get squared away here, he'll send me to a rehab place God only knows where."

For a long moment, neither man said anything, instead ruminating on the offer given. Subtly, Bucky ground his teeth, leaning his head back against the cool wall. Noticing the reticence there, Steve scratched at the back of his neck, knowing the next words that would come out of his mouth could make the difference.

"You said yourself that you're looking for a chance," he reminded his friend. Squaring his shoulders, he went on, "And while working for Fury isn't ideal, by any stretch of the imagination, it's another step to take towards that."

Barnes snorted. "Right."

A hand clapped onto Bucky's shoulder, drawing him out of his own mind and back to his friend. For a moment, the two kids from Brooklyn were silently commiserating, supporting each other through thick and thin.

Steve half-grinned, his eyes reflecting total seriousness. "Whatever you decide, Buck, I'm with ya."

"I know." Bucky nodded once, the truth resonating around them. As the captain dropped his hand from his shoulder, he canted his head to the right, a rueful gesture. "Six months."

His friend winced visibly, recalling his stint with rehabilitation. "It'll pass. And things will be...very different."

Moving away from the wall, Bucky strode down the corridor, flashing a blank look over his shoulder to his friend. Underneath the layer of coldness, though, there was something akin to hope dawning.

"I'm counting on that."

 **xXxXxXx**

Three evenings after the morning debriefing took place, Holly was bent over her laptop, and multiple tabs were opened before her. By that point, many of the refugees aboard had been brought back down to the remains of the city, survey crews arriving and making assessments of the damage. Representatives from the various companies Maria Hill had kept in touch with had also come, helping outline a grid and set up the rebuilding process. With the population aboard the helicarrier dwindling down to its original numbers, she consequently had less to do in the evenings than before. Glancing at her phone briefly, she noticed the flashing light and icon indicative of messages received. A frown pulled at her lips, dreading the eventual future conversations she was going to have to have. Sarah, at least, had kept her messages to texting, something which she could easily answer. Her parents, though, were bound to have questions about her fiance's activities over the last several days, and the level of her involvement. Aside from short phone calls in which she told them they were both alright and unharmed, she had not given them the full story as of yet. Her stomach clenched at the thought; it was going to be unpleasant and emotional, and frankly, she wasn't looking forward to it.

A yawn coursed through her, and she rubbed her eyes for a second or two after dropping the phone back down beside her. She'd spent too long staring at the screen, but she was fascinated by what she was reading and couldn't put it to one side. Idly, she ran a finger over the red welt of her new scar, the last remnants of the stitches that had been on her forehead. One of the doctors aboard finally had the time to remove them for her, and she was so relieved to have them gone now. Without the pulling thread, the only reminder of her injury came from her physical touch. Poking and prodding it would not remove it, she told herself, her attention focusing again on the laptop before her.

"What are you looking at?"

The familiar baritone pulled Holly's attention away from her computer, made her grin. Though early evening, she had not expected Steve to be back from his duties so soon. A little worn down, with the five o'clock shadow surfacing, but there he was nonetheless. Still, she was pleased to see him standing in the doorway of their shared quarters, leaning against it with his arms crossed. She had no idea how long he'd been standing there, watching her with such warmth in his eyes. Combing her hair over to one side, she stretched her arms above her head, working out the kinks. She been sitting cross-legged on the bed for awhile, hunched over her laptop, a borrowed notebook and pen settled to one side. It was just as well; she needed the break.

"I'm taking a minute to clean out my inbox," she told him, flapping a hand in the air. At least the carrier was good for WiFi, if nothing else, despite the occasional spottiness. As he came into the room and let the automatic door shut, she shifted sideways, allowing him to take a seat next to her. "That, and I'm looking at some wedding stuff."

Perching next to her, Steve leaned away from her, his lips quirking. "Am I allowed to look, or is this one of those bad luck things?"

She snickered, shaking her head at him. "That's mostly about the dress, and since it hasn't been picked yet, you have nothing to worry about."

He chuckled, amusement dimming as he picked up her notebook and looked it over. A list was scratched over the paper, her normally tidy handwriting scrawled and crossed out all over the place. Peering at it closer, he made out a few words here and there.

"That's, uh, that's quite a list you've got going here," he muttered. Shrugging a shoulder and letting out a small laugh, he went on, "Maybe we should just elope, and cut out the extensive worry you'll have over...flower placements?"

Holly giggled under her breath. She tapped a finger lightly along the edge of the keyboard, biting her lip for a moment. "Or we just have a very short engagement."

That cut his laughter off quickly, the humor bleeding away the longer he stared at her. His suggestion had been (partially) a joke, but the set of her face told him how seriously she was considering it. His throat constricted in a swallow, and if she had to guess, his heartbeat must have quickened.

"How short are we talking here?"

"Month and a half, roughly, at the most?" she suggested, the tab about pursuing such a course minimized on her screen. Hastily, she soldiered on, "It's possible to make it happen; it doesn't have to be big or fancy, but if we work at it together..."

Steve's blue eyes widened at the prospect, at the thought of everything happening so soon. Tenderly, he reached up, tucking back the loose strands of her hair, another thick swallow sounding audibly.

"You want to do that?"

Holly sighed, closing her laptop with a decisive click, setting it down on the bed behind her. Reaching out, she looped her arms around Steve's waist, her head resting upon his shoulder for a moment.

"Steve, the last week has given me a lot of time to think about life, and what I want out of it, and what I want with you. Our future was almost literally taken away from us, and it could happen again. Waiting for a prolonged period of time seems...silly and pointless to me, now," she said. It was the truth. Where earlier they had decided to wait on making any decisions regarding the wedding, she no longer felt the same way. The whole debacle with Ultron drove home the point of how dangerous life with Steve could be, and how little of it she wanted to lose, or miss out on. She did not think her heart could take another disaster like that, not if she wasn't already wed to him, promised to him. There was a propensity for courage in her, deep down; Steve had brought that out in her. As his wife, she could face more than she could as his girlfriend or fiancee. Pulling away, she cupped his jaw gently, her thumb stroking across his cheek as her dark eyes locked onto his.

"If you're absolutely dead-set on eloping, then I will gladly go with you to the courthouse at the earliest possible moment. But I...I would still like a wedding. Same as you, right?" she asked, taking his bare hint of a nod as confirmation. "I think we can pull this off. On top of everything else. What do you say?"

Perhaps she had pushed him too far, she thought, given how he dropped his eyes to the notebook in his hands, scanning the loops and scratches of her handwriting. Perhaps he would have preferred to wait, and would rather she had not brought up the subject at all. It could have put him off the notion altogether. However, in her heart she knew that was not the case. Still, she waited for his answer, and soon enough, he laced the fingers of his left hand with her right, squeezing gently. His lips met hers in a sweet, simple kiss, one that he pulled back from with a small smile.

"I say we've got some work to do, Princess," he said, tapping one of his broad fingers against the notebook. "How can I help?"

Her answering smile, while tired, was still wide and bright. "Let's start by checking out this website, Nerfherder, and we'll go from there."

Opening the laptop again, Holly pointed out the list of wedding do's and don'ts upon the webpage, a flush of anticipation and excitement flowing through her as Steve curled an arm around her and looked closer, ready to take on the new challenge with her.

* * *

 **A/N:** If it wasn't already painfully obvious, I have very little understanding about politics and world law. So if what's happening with the Avengers being allowed to work and expand with the U.N.'s blessing so quickly seems unbelievable to you, well...I'm sorry. However, the way I've interpreted this universe has kind of allowed for that sort of thing, allowed for the rules to be changed and broken and at a swift rate. If that's not kosher to you, then I guess it's just not. Just...suspend your disbelief?

Shout out to Councilwoman Hawley. Figured we might as well get some World Security Council survivors inboard this enterprise. And while it seems unfair (and I'm really trying not to be, truly), Tony really does need that time away. He's come to realize that through all his experiences and the events of the last few days that he needs to be less Iron Man and more Tony Stark, and he needs to figure out the distinction in that time. It's not him giving up; it's him allowing himself to get help and actually adjust, which I don't think he's ever fully done. Much of the same will be happening with Bucky, too, as you can see. Also, more wedding stuff being mentioned, because why not? :)

Things are moving apace, as they say, with still more changes to come. Stick around, if you so desire. Next chapter may or may not include more time jumping, we shall see.

A few of the foreign words here were done with an online translator and are as follows (if I screwed them up, I apologize):  
 _Ďakujem_. _V angličtine_...—Slovak; Thank you. In English...  
 _Prosím—_ Slovak; Please.  
 _Áno—_ Slovak; Yes.  
 _Nie—_ Slovak; No.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any companies or pop culture references mentioned above, including ones from _Star Wars_. and Marvel comics (in reference to the new recruits they're looking over. If you can guess the one that I mentioned in the part where Bucky has his conference with Fury, I'll give you...a digital cookie, I guess).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

EDIT: Oh, and to answer a couple questions posed to me...my plans for Kay aren't solidified yet, but I do have an idea of where she's going, Jo. And yes, to me the Brutasha thing seemed a little shoved in there, but it was an intriguing idea to work with, so I just went with it.

Okay, for real now, see you all for the next chapter!


	31. Chapter 31

It had been a week since the disaster in Sokovia, and while so much had changed, time still seemed to march so slowly. As far Pietro was concerned, at least. For a few of those days, he was sorely tried and tested, his healing injuries forcing him back to the plane of mere mortals despite the rapidity of their healing. He wanted to move, think, to be active in the changes surrounding him and his sister. Their futures were moving apace, even as he was stuck first in the hospital bed, and then restricted to the floor of the infirmary that he resided upon in the helicarrier. With the advent of the new Avenger World initiative, spots had become available on the expanded team. In the past, such an opportunity would have been scorned and passed over by him, his hatred for the Avengers too powerful to overcome to even allow the idea consideration. But now...everything was different. With Ultron destroyed, with his hometown and good portion of his country in disarray, and his own allegiances altered, there was little else he wanted to do in place of serving them. He was given his gifts for a purpose, and while the original intent was diabolical, his own leanings had changed that. Pietro did not hate as much as he once had; he couldn't, not when the team he'd despised had saved him, protecting his sister and making up for the damages caused with their efforts. He only wished he could do the same.

With survey crews and various charities and companies descending upon the small country, it was deemed time for the carrier to depart, and he went with it, his sister standing with him as they watched their country shrink little by little into the horizon. It was to England, just outside of London, that the carrier was sent, ready to restock and prepare for the return trip to the United States. From there, the remaining members of the Avengers were ready to split off: Tony Stark and the Vision were set to go onto Johannesburg, to track the progress of Stark Relief within the city and to see to the reconstruction and repairs to the damaged areas where they could, while the one called Thor would go with Barton to Seoul to check in. The others, Captain Rogers included, were of a mind to return home, to start preparing to move base, which was scheduled to happen at the end of May. And, in the midst of it all, Pietro and Wanda were left with no word of what was to become of them. Lodged in a hotel at the heart of the city, one day passed in which he was allowed to fret. Soon enough, he had visitors. A good portion of his wounds had healed or were on their way when the director of the helicarrier, Nicholas Fury, came to him with the offer, the captain by his side. The rest of the team was absent, and perhaps that was for the best (despite letting go of his hatred, he still did not like Tony Stark, and would have had some issues with remaining still and at peace while being in the same room as him). With the two of them there, he felt as though he were in front of a panel of schoolteachers, overlooking his conduct and determining how to praise or punish accordingly.

Seemingly, it was praise, and he should have expected it; after all, it was a procedure they had gone through a few days prior with Wanda, approaching her first while he was still recovering. Having proved himself in the field, numerous times, they wanted to extend an offer to be on the Avengers. He was not required to answer right away, the captain had spoken up, allowing him the chance to think it over before Fury could get another word in. Either team would welcome him, as vacancies were cropping up for both. Pietro had nodded, said he would give them an answer soon, and spent the next several minutes staring out the window of his hotel, pondering what he would do. The passersby below went on with their day, the bustle of cars and buses in the gray rain unhindered.

The sun had dropped lower in the sky, darker shades added to the clouds, when he heard the click of the doorknob turning, the whispering brush of the panels swinging open and shut. The light tread of feet behind him was familiar, and so he did not turn around. His sister came up to him, resting an elbow on the sill and sighing quietly, the aura surrounding her disrupting the quiet in its own way. Glancing out the corner of his eye at her, he lifted a corner of his mouth, but said nothing. For a few moments, at least.

"What do you think, Wanda?" he asked suddenly, mimicking her posture, leaning against the window frame. Looking at her, he could see in her eyes that she understood exactly what he was considering. It wouldn't have been hard for her to do so. If she hadn't gleaned it from the roil of his inner feelings, she would have heard it from someone or another. Gossip did spread fast, almost faster than he could run, no matter where he was or who was around.

Green eyes focused on him, clouding over as she shrugged a shoulder. "I...I don't know."

His eyebrow inclined at that; the hastily covered emotion, the sudden stiffness in her spine, the way she quickly averted her gaze to the glass after speak told him more than she did. Shaking his head, he brushed the silver strands on his forehead away, breathing slowly out his nose.

"Yes, you do," he carefully contradicted her. The spring of guilt, small though it was, shot up in her face, though she attempted to control it. Smirking sardonically, he lifted a shoulder at her. "What you do not know, is how to tell me, yes?"

When she'd confessed about Fury's offer to her a few days ago, Wanda had not committed to any course, either. But from the way she'd spoken about the options, the wistful lilt as she spoke of moving on, moving back with them over setting up shop in Europe, it was obvious which way she was leaning. She just lacked the courage to tell him the truth. Well, he wasn't about to let her continue to deny it.

"Pietro...you are right," she confirmed, tugging on the end of her auburn braid. Exhaling, she continued to peer out the window, the light tap of rain against the glass mingling with her words. "I was not sure what to say. Because you are my brother, and being apart from you is something I have not imagined before."

Pietro snorted. "Well, you are imagining it now."

It wasn't meant to come out harsh, but she must have felt some sort of sting, given the way she'd flinched. Still, Wanda held herself erect, chin raising almost in defiance as she stared out.

"Our people, they have suffered enough because of me. They have died, because of my need for revenge."

Chastened, Pietro let his head droop. He knew very well that even with her protection of the people and guarding the spire that was programmed to destroy the world, she still carried guilt over all that had happened. It was a short-sighted mess, her idea to tear apart Tony Stark with his own fears, which had backfired in ways neither could have imagined. However, it was not all her fault. As the older brother, he held responsibility to look after his sibling, to be a good example even in adulthood. He had not stopped her, even when he would have rather just killed him instead. He let her manipulate so many, to serve a cause they thought they knew. Rather, they were played, and in turn nearly let the world get destroyed by their carelessness...his carelessness.

"Mine, too," he had murmured, fingers twitching impatiently along the polished veneer of the pane. Anxious to move, to not be still, to do something, he lifted his hand, pressed his palm upon his sister's shoulder and met her gaze again. "But we can make it up to them, right?"

Wanda nodded eventually, twisting the rings on her fingers and contemplating what he'd said.

"I think so. But I think I need to do it away from them. While you...you want to be close. Be among them, in some way. Which you can, and should," she declared evenly, stoic in her bearing as she went on. "In America, I think I will have the chance to start. To start over."

While Pietro felt drawn to the idea of a team on this side of the globe, close to home, Wanda did not feel the same draw. Her destructive powers, her abilities, set her apart more than his. It would be very easy to lose control, to let her emotions override everything again. And as much as she loved Pietro, she knew he would not keep her in check. They felt too much in the same way, and it was proven how far they would go to support each other, even when they made the wrong choices. In the last several days, after being exposed to the further suffering of her people, all a byproduct of her want for revenge, she knew that she needed to not let that happen again. She needed accountability, much like the rest of the Avengers did. Under the Black Widow's gaze, under the captain's eye, she knew she would find it. Moreover, perhaps she could find herself, find out who Wanda Maximoff was, at her core.

To her right, she could see Pietro's head bobbing up and down, his fingers squeezing her shoulder companionably.

"Maybe that would be a good thing. Both Maximoffs in one place would make them nervous," he said, snickering a little as he drew a smile from her. There was little too much truth in that statement to deny it, and so they let it pass. His arm moved around her, slinging over her shoulders and pulling her back from the glass, back towards the interior of the room. Continuing, he murmured, "Me on one team, you on the other. I think it will be good. Hard, but good."

Though he could not say he was a visionary at all, an image did surface in his mind as Pietro thought about it: his sister, all in scarlet and auras surrounding her, standing guard on one side of the world, him in blues, grays, and whites on the other, working apart but still on the path towards the same goal. If it was what she wanted, he would not stop her. Nor would she stop him. They both knew where they wanted to be, and so they would be. She would go back, go to New York, and he would make a new home in England, a smaller base to be established in the countryside in the next few months. Perhaps he might have a chance at being an interim leader there. He rather liked the idea.

Wanda nodded, biting her lip for a moment. "You might be right."

"Of course I am," he intoned, confidence infusing him. Jerking his chin up, he flashed a brilliant smile at her. "Older brothers know better."

Rolling her eyes, she chuckled at his arrogance, swatting him in the chest as they walked towards the door together. Unconsciously they were moving together, towards their new futures, ready to tell Fury without any more discussion.

"Hush," she reprimanded him, her smile slipping after a second or two. As he let her go, and she preceded him through the door, she waited until he'd crossed the threshold before looping her arms around him, her face pressed into her brother's shoulder. A tremor cut across his mind, her energies pouring into him in that moment. "I will miss you."

"I know," Pietro said, arms tightening around her briefly. Like he had said, it would be hard, separating from his sister for the first time in years. Still, it wasn't like they would never see each other again. He wouldn't give up before it was time, and neither would she. Pulling back, he grinned down at her, the sadness in his eyes not lifting in the slightest. "But I'll never be too far away."

Tapping her nose once, he jokingly pinched it, stemming the tears that were threatening to surface. Pietro barely dodged the second swat Wanda swung at him when he let go, his laugh echoing around them as he continued to evade her attacks for a few minutes. Soon enough, his arm around her shoulders again as he led her to the elevator bank, ready to find Fury and declare their intentions.

 **xXxXxXx**

Switching off the headset, letting the pilot continue the flight unaided, Natasha removed the set before standing and finally moving away from the control panel. Nodding once to the fellow at the helm, she moved away, towards one of seats off to the side. Unlike the one Tony had modified, the quinjet they were commandeering had come straight off the SHIELD- produced helicarrier, on loan for the day's events. Breathing out slowly, she tipped her head back against the rest, tucking back the loose strands of her flaming hair behind her ear and resting for the first time in hours. Days, really.

In the last week and couple days, she hadn't had much time to think, let alone rest. Personally, she was okay with that. Working to help the refugees of Sokovia, to broker deals in the name of the Avengers with nonprofits and setting up such things had taken up much of her time and energy, her body barely having anytime to heal as she moved from one task to the other. Anything, really, to keep herself going, keep herself busy, keep herself from thinking of...

Her eyelids squeezed tight against the thought. There wasn't much to think about, in that case. It was nothing, it had come to nothing, and it would be nothing. She sharply drummed that into her head. Natasha Romanoff would not let herself be torn down by an affection that was rebuffed, that was pushed aside in the name of...what, consideration? Safety? Bruce had his reasons, she knew that, breaking another little piece of her from the fractured whole. The short-lived fantasy, that had come so close to reality, was still there, damaged and in sight, but she would never touch it now. The morning after Banner's departure, she was determined to act as though nothing were amiss, assuming the ice queen persona that all had come to know and fear of her. But though her teammates had accepted her show, she knew they knew deep down she was cut, that it was a farce. It made her want to cut ties as well, go after him, try again. However, she would not beg for his affection. Maybe, in that case, he was right: she deserved better. She deserved someone who was willing to try, no matter the consequences. No matter how broken and battered she was. And until she was confident in her finding such a person, in reviving her allure and her charm, she would fake it as though she were unaffected.

The around-the-clock work helped, the discussions for the new branch of the team distracted her. Soon enough, though, it was time to head home, to the quiet. A part of her had quaked in fear of that, of the demons lurking and waiting in the shadows there for her. Nick Fury had stepped in then, extending an offer for her to complete and prolong the inevitable trials she'd put herself through in the silence. The task she had been given by Fury was simple on the surface, but the turmoil within her told her otherwise.

After all, she wasn't too keen on playing delivery girl. Nor did she want to spend too much time in the proximity of the Winter Soldier. The ghost, the man, was supposed to be able to smell weakness and fear in a person, and while the idea was superstitious and ridiculous, a part of her could not quell her suspicions that he, in fact, could do so. Then again, he had been an unwitting witness to one of her great moments of weakness, so there was not much she could do to hide it.

Opening her eyes, she looked at the man in question, his head bowed, cropped hair falling over his brow and his lips set in a thin line as he stared into space. A bag was perched beside him, his body encumbered by different shades of black and gray, heavy boots on his feet, heavy bags under his eyes. He hadn't said a word since they departed, when the captain, his girl, and Wilson had joined them on the tarmac, sending him off as best they could in spite of the early hour and the air of uncertainty that hovered around them. Poor Steve, she had thought; though he managed to grin and bear it, he looked so sad then, and even Natasha, mired in her own heartache, could sympathize. Bidding good-bye to friends was never easy; the closer one was, with so much left unsaid and so much that needed to be done, the harder it got. It was for the best, he knew, and murmured, his fingers laced with Holly's, drawing enough silent strength to step back and wave him off, promises to contact him as soon as he could in the near future. For his part, the ex-assassin had lifted his hand in farewell, but Natasha could see the well of guilt and confusion in his eyes, the question of what he had done to deserve that measure of friendship even after everything. She had turned away before he could catch her watching him, not willing to let him see how much she felt, and understood, that same confusion. As it was, he was leaning back in his own seat now, harness limp around him and his face creased in exhaustion. Lack of sleep the night before, Natasha guessed to be the cause, due to the new turn his life was taking that day. Less of a soldier, more of a man, now, she mused to herself.

Over the last week, when she was forced to work side by side with him (mostly in silence, as she did not have much to say to anyone since the meeting with the U.N. representative that did not include obvious comments) she had seen glimpses of the truth of his person beneath the layer of coldness. Granted, it was mostly Steve or Sam that would be able to break through it, but she knew that he was allowing himself to start letting go, to get through the pain of his past and make something better out of it. It came as no surprise, really, when Nick told her that he would be sending Sergeant Barnes away, to the Country House—the rehabilitative homestead that had been on tap for SHIELD's most beaten, broken agents to recollect themselves and heal. It was still operating as a clinic, underground even though it was out in the open. What did surprise her was the fact that he had chosen her to be the fellow's escort. In fact, she nearly objected to doing the task...until the director actually used the word please. Nick Fury did not often beg for help, but he was doing so with her.

Perhaps it was because Barton was gone, off on his own mission, and with him went her stability. Maybe it was because he didn't want to see her wallow in heartbreak (not that it was something she'd ever done; that was a facetious musing on her part, and she knew for a fact that it didn't wash in the slightest). More likely he just wanted to give her something to do that was of use to him. Nick could trust Natasha with something that important, mundane though it seemed. But she knew it wasn't that at all; once upon a time, she had been bleary and nervous, secured to a bench and uncertain of her future, and a sandy-haired agent who had spared her life once too often was watching her, telling her that now, things would be different. That she would make it be different, that it would be her chance and choice to do so.

Maybe that was why. Breathing carefully out, she rose again, smoothing down the red blouse and leather jacket she sported, her stride confident as she moved to his bank of seats. Coming to a stop before him, she waited for Barnes to notice, to tear his eyes away from the blank space of nothingness back to the present. When he finally looked up at her, he could not quite hide the flash of diffidence that coursed through him, before the layer of blankness descended upon him. Raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow, she cut a glance at the open seat next to him, silent permission asked. A shrug of shoulders was her only answer, and so she took it for what it was worth. Settling on the edge of the seat (because nothing could make her forget what he was capable of, no matter how lost he looked, and if she had to get away from him fast, she could do so) Natasha maintained the quiet for several long minutes, allowing him to adjust to her proximity before speaking.

"So what did Fury tell you, about where you're going?" she asked in a low voice, conscious of not drawing the pilot's attention to their conversation. Barnes flicked his gaze up, darting it to the pilot and back before he lifted a shoulder.

"Not much. Just that it's somewhere safe for me to go through rehabilitation," he replied, lacing his hands together in his lap, staring at the toe of his boot as flesh crossed with metal. Natasha nodded, though he did not see it.

"He's not wrong," she told him gently, recalling her days at the place. The early days of her freedom, spent in a haze of confusion and fright, wrapped up in a big house and her rattling around in it like a lone pea in a can. A big house where she had only herself to face, and that was more terrifying that anything she'd done up until that point. A corner of her mouth lifted, a stray detail coming to the forefront of her mind. "Just be prepared; it's gonna be really muggy out for the next three months, and the air conditioning is sub-par, at best."

Barnes snorted at that, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips as he glanced up at her. "I'll take that over cold any time. You've been?"

"Had to," Nat confessed quietly. As his brow furrowed in question, she cupped the air with her free hand, brushing the painful past away even as she spoke about it. "Used to work for the KGB, way back when. It was part of the deal I made when I switched over. I wanted to go straight, I had to do it this way."

The cornflower blue of his eyes broke through the icy shell that normally surrounded them, barely fazed by his blinking. Questions circled his mind, that much was obvious, but he either had a good sense of discretion or he just did not want to antagonize her by inquiring further about her past. To a degree, he probably even understood her position. She certainly had inkling about what his was like, at the moment. He ruminated over her words, a flash of an indefinable thought crossing his face.

"Did it work?" he wondered, curious as to her answer. Curious, and perhaps not a little afraid. Natasha let out a slow breath, arms crossing over her chest as she tilted her head to one side.

"It's debatable," she said, self-deprecation in her tone. It was an invitation to humor, but she saw right away that he was being sincere and would not be turned from the path. The smarmy grin she had dropped, seriousness invading her gaze. "It works if you let it, if you want it."

Being ordered into rehabilitation, into therapy, would ultimately come to nothing if the person being ordered did not accept it, did not want to be healed and to start repairing their lives. Faking it would get them nowhere, either. It was a fact that she had realized quickly in her stint there; she had, obviously, tried to beat the system, to get through and back to work as swiftly as possible without actually working on herself. It was impossible, and something that Nick had caught her on very early. In a line of work that require one to be deceptive at all times, the only thing that would actually help her to move on, to live, was to be entirely honest and to know she needed help. She squinted at the man beside her, questioning his motives in that moment. Was he playing a long game, too, in the hopes of getting out fast?

The hard set of his jaw, the leap of fear squashed by the spike of bravery in his eyes said otherwise.

"I want it," he declared, sitting up straight in his seat. His metal hand curled up on his knee, the nearly inaudible clicks of the joints reaching her ears.

"That's a major part of the battle, admitting you want it. Then the real work begins." She sighed heavily, swinging her leg back and forth as a shiver trailed down her spine. "Going over all the memories...it won't be easy."

"I don't expect it to be."

"Good, because it won't. Unless your memories are sparse; that might make it more tolerable, at the beginning. How much do you remember?"

"Too much...and not enough," Barnes retorted, the haunted air encasing him briefly. In a moment or two, he shrugged it off, and Natasha found herself letting go of the breath she held.

Gesturing to herself, she asked sarcastically, "You know who I am?"

"I know a few things," her companion replied, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Your name, for starters. And what you do. And that I've shot you."

"Twice," she corrected him. Off his raised eyebrow, she elaborated, "You've shot me twice."

A long bout of silence passed, and then: "I'm surprised you're not trying to kill me now."

Natasha let out a snicker at his expense, crossing her legs as she sat up in her seat. "Well, like I've said, I've been there before. When your mind isn't your own, when you do things you were not meant to do...and then when you realize how wrong you were, it's its own punishment." Once more, the humor faded, everything she'd been pressing back coming forward, the memories always there, no matter how far she'd gone. "All that you can do is find a way past it. And they'll help with that. Besides, I did manage to get you back a little for it."

"More than a little, I do recall that much. Those stunner disks sting, by the way. Even on this," Barnes said, lifting his metal arm. Encased as it was in the black sweater he was wearing, the exposure of the hand at the end of the sleeve still made the point. Natasha felt her smile return, a surge of pride coursing through her; that day under the overpass, she had never been more grateful for her stunners, seeing that they could delay even a renegade hit man with a metal arm. And even now, when she could see that he was not that person any longer, she was still a little pleased with herself. Only a little.

"I'm aware. It's worse on skin."

"I'll take your word for it." He rolled his eyes at that, but he managed to temper it with an expression of remorse. "I'm, well...sorry."

Nonplussed, she wondered if that was the first time in seventy years that the sergeant had said those words, and meant them.

Flicking a few fingers in the air, she eventually murmured, "I can't say it's nothing, because it wasn't. But I understand the circumstances, so..."

It wasn't an outright rejection, nor was it total acceptance. But it seemed that the fellow would accept her equivocation as it was, and he dipped his chin.

"Alright, then."

The pilot's voice barked across the space, announcing that landing would be imminent. Off the cue, Natasha buckled herself into the harness, the descent making her stomach lurch and drop. Out the corner of her eye, she noted the way Barnes' human hand gripped tightly to his, the whiteness of his knuckles growing starker as they dropped on and off. Rather than take the opportunity to tease him for his lack of comfort with flying, she turned her head away, focusing on the hatch as they landed. A flood of green swam before her eyes once the quinjet settled on the ground and the ramp slid down, the scent of clipped grass and dirt after a rainstorm invading her senses. The familiar smell she associated with aid, with healing...it reminded her of Clint's farm, which in reality was only two states away. Maybe she should do as Bruce had done, and run. She could go there, to the farm. Maybe she could do as Clint had confessed only to her: retire, and live out the remainder of her days in solitude. Be Auntie Nat, up in the spare room, her explosive life fading into quiet obscurity.

Shaking her head, she unclasped the harness from around her torso. It was not her time, Natasha sharply rebuked herself. She would not give up the fight, not yet. There was still so much to do, and she was a part of those parts and pieces that were changing. Leading the way, she climbed down to the end of the ramp.

The Country House looked much as it did when she'd first arrived thirteen years ago. It was an expanded farmhouse, whitewashed and bright in the midst of the green lawn. Inside, though, was incredibly different from the exterior: it had up-to-date technologies to keep the agents housed there in the loop, decent Internet access and a medical bay downstairs that rivaled many of the major hospitals in the country. Sandwiched in between thick tree breaks, the gravel road leading up to the front of the house peeled off to a barn that had been converted into a training space, before winding down the lane to the proper tarred road.

Barnes slid out after her, his eyes widening as he glanced around. The breeze stirred the unruly strands of hair on his forehead, brushing hers as well. Distant bird chirps caught his attention, and he adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, continuing to stare in wonder.

"It's so..." he trailed off, lost for words.

"Not what you were expecting?" Natasha supplied, tucking her hands into her pockets. "That's kind of the point. It's not cold, clinical, like a hospital would be. Or a psych ward, in some places."

"I was actually gonna say 'quiet.' But yeah, I suppose it ties into that, too," he amended his statement, allowing the briefest flicker of a smile down at her. The front door of the house opened then, the slap of the screen-door snapping back akin to the sound of a gunshot. Years of training drilled into both of them allowed them both to catch themselves before reacting, but Barnes remained on edge as the person who had emerged clambered closer. A middle aged woman, her light brown hair threaded with natural silver, waved to them a little, her hazel eyes donning a look of recognition as she spotted Natasha. She grinned politely at her; she'd remembered Doctor Gregory—Libba, she allowed her patients to call her. The woman was unfailingly supportive of all those under her care, practically unflappable, no matter what atrocities and horrors they confessed to her. Underneath the layer of supposed sweetness, there was a will of iron, and a determination to help whoever she was dealing with to find the healing they needed, even if they couldn't find it with her.

"Mister Barnes?" she asked gently, her voice mellow and clear. When he simply nodded, she smiled. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Libba Gregory. I understand you were sent here by Nick Fury, right?" Another nod, another lift of her lips. "Good, I'm glad that you made it out safely. Well, we've got everything set up in the house for you, if you'll come this way."

Unconsciously, Barnes stepped back, giving himself more ground and room in case he needed to act. It wasn't a huge step, but it wasn't something Natasha wouldn't notice. The doctor picked up on it, too, but before she had a chance to utter any reassurances, the redhead sidled closer to the taller man, her shoulder pressing into his arm. The weight of her next to him stalled him, held him there before he chose to fight or fly. Meeting his gaze, she bit back an inhalation. Kindness, gentleness, disturbed him more than any orders barked in his face could, and it was awful to see the reality blooming in his eyes. It was awful to see that look of despondency in anyone but her.

When she was given the chance to reflect upon it later, Natasha would ponder when she had reached the day that she felt compelled to comfort the Winter Soldier. But, then again, it wasn't him that she was providing solidity to, that she was offering some form of comfort.

James Barnes needed it, not the Winter Soldier, and the distinction became ever-clearer in that instant.

" _It's not a trick,_ Barnes," she whispered, the Russian touching him enough to get his body to relax minutely. " _Really. I promise._ "

With the tiniest turn of her hand, she bade the doctor to step back, and respectfully, she did just that. With an invitation to come into the house when he was ready, the older woman walked away, glancing over her shoulder once as she went. Natasha exhaled softly, waiting for Barnes to collect his faculties, get himself under control. A few shaky breaths were expelled from his mouth, and soon enough, he shifted away from her, swallowing audibly.

A few minutes passed, and then he cleared his throat. "I...I suppose that's it, then?"

"This is where we part ways," Natasha proclaimed, canting her head to one side. "Been doing it a lot lately; guess that's why Nick chose me for this."

His brow furrowed at that. "But it's not your preference."

For a moment, she considered lying, or just letting the comment go unanswered. But, out there, at that place, away from the world and all she was, she did not see the harm in being honest.

"...No, it's not." With that, she pivoted on her heel, the gravel under her boots crunching as she strode back to the quinjet. When his voice called out to her again, she stopped in her tracks, half-turning to hear what he had to say.

"Thank you...Natalia," Barnes pronounced carefully, tongue wrapping around her natural name with ease. She blinked rapidly at that. It had been quite some time since someone had called her that (and she did not count the time that involved the computerized weasel known as Zola, who was taunting her as much as hindering her and the captain in their endeavor to find the truth) and she was not totally sure how to react to it.

"Natasha," she countered lightly. He did not look the least chagrined at it; instead, he just tucked his hand into his pocket, inclining his head at her.

"That's a nickname, though. Figured I'd be a little more proper."

"I think we skipped proper when you attacked me twice," she noted dryly, and his placid expression became a touch strained.

"Consider it my way of making up for the past."

The wry look on her face softened, an intentional move that he would read and understand.

"I'm familiar with that, too. Good luck, Sergeant." That said, he turned towards the house, squaring his shoulders before walking up the path to the front door. He hadn't gotten five feet away before Natasha amended the title she'd given him. "James."

He did not look back at her, but his step did falter for a second, his feet pausing in the journey. Soon enough, he was back on his way, up to the farmhouse and to the doctor awaiting him on the porch. Watching him go, Natasha shook herself a little as the screen-door snapped open and shut, swiveling harshly and tromping back up the ramp into the quinjet. It was over, her task was completed. She could go back to the Tower, and back to the work that she was needed to be a part of.

And she could do so, just as James had done, she told herself, taking a seat by the pilot once more as they prepared for take-off.

 **xXxXxXx**

Once stateside again, Holly found herself at a loss.

To be sure, she still had follow-ups to do regarding the two or three charities she'd gotten in touch with, and she connected Jane with Maria to help expedite the process of getting the colleges involved in relief efforts. As well as that, she was devoting her attention to preparing for the wedding, some appointments scheduled over the next couple of weeks to get things lined up. Still, it did not erase the fact that after being busy from sunrise to sunset for so long, she found the sudden lack of work to be daunting. Distractions were few and far between, and thus all that she had been pushing back, ignoring, in favor of helping the team in what little way she could began to prey on her mind.

The future was coming upon her fast, and she was unsure of what she would do. Marriage was the only certainty, but everything else was open, left up to chance.

In lieu of occupying time when her other tasks were sorted (and when she could not look at another bridal website without being able to hold back a scream) she assisted those who had been drafted from the downstairs offices and Maria to start packing up the upper floor's necessities. In compliance with Stark's probation, the team had agreed to his alternate plan of establishing a new base, which was being refurbished somewhere upstate at the moment. Within a few weeks, it would be ready for habitation. All the records and files, equipment and tools, that were needed there were to be boxed up, shipped or delivered fast. With Steve spending a good portion of his time with Fury, officially starting to contact the recruits they had finally settled upon for the new team, and the others either on other missions or returned to their homes (like Sam, who had been offered a spot on the main team and needed to head back to D.C. to begin getting his affairs in order) she was okay with the idea of packing up boxes. It would be good practice, considering that she would have to be so for her own things soon enough.

On the third day, she broke for lunch, following Maria up to her personal office. The grand space had grown emptier in that short time, the desk and lounge furniture already shipped off the site. With their containers of take-out, the two women sat on the floor, the openness of the room making their voices echo slightly as they spoke in between bites.

"It's so weird, not having to run to one place or another," Holly ventured after a moment or two, her plastic fork stirring her food. Maria, chewing fast, swallowed and lifted a shoulder.

"You know what's weird to me?" she countered, her bright gaze lighting up as she speared a dumpling. "Getting a full night's sleep."

The corners of the younger woman's mouth lifted, a snort shooting out of her. "That, too. How long do you think that will last?"

"Not long enough, in my case. It might be a little different for you," Maria conceded, and Holly nodded briskly.

"Yeah, that whole lack of employment thing really opens up the schedule."

Hill's brow furrowed. "You lost your job?"

Dark brown eyes flew up, connecting with the quizzical blue. That was right; she'd never actually gotten around to telling Maria about no longer being employed at the bookstore. So far, she'd only told her friends, and Steve. At the time, it was still a fresh loss, and she did not want to dwell on it. And then, well, it was a helter-skelter dash to the finish line, to assist the people of Sokovia and help the team establish a new place in the world that she had just neglected to fill in the details. Granted, she figured it would have been obvious, given how she was in no rush to return home, that there were no demands on her time. Inwardly, she supposed that even expert spies missed a couple of things here and there; nobody was perfect, after all, and it wasn't Maria's purpose to know everything that happened to her.

"Oh, right...um, yeah," Holly stammered, the swirling of her fork taking an aggressive turn for a few seconds. "Well, I was laid off, technically, but it amounts to the same thing."

Maria blew out a breath, but her expression reflected nothing but calm. If Holly had been looking for it, she would've seen the sudden, brief gleam in the other woman's eyes, like she had been dealt a winning hand in a national poker championship.

"Wow...that's..."

"Tell me about it," Holly retorted, spearing a piece of broccoli and shoving it into her mouth. Chewing it fast, she swallowed and said, "But...it is what it is. Can't really do anything about it. On the plus side, I get a month's compensation out of it, so I'm not totally in dire straits yet."

Hill nodded, her movements slowed as she continued to watch her eat. "We've also been keeping you pretty busy, too. Probably we should just add you to the pay roll."

"With my lack of qualifications? Eh, at least I'd be pretty cheap," Holly joked, a weak jab at herself played off with a sarcastic smile. "Besides, I wasn't doing much, other than talking to a couple of people that you couldn't. If I hadn't been there, you'd probably have done it, anyway."

"You did well enough," was the firm contradiction out of Hill's mouth. Gesturing with her fork in the air, she continued, "Could parlay that into a major shift upward in your job search, like as a donations officer or something."

"I suppose. My interests lie elsewhere. I'll help where I need to, but I know where my strengths lay."

"And I do, too."

Holly's grin faded the longer Maria held her gaze. There was not a hint of dissimulation in her face, and she let her eyebrows lift minutely. It was no joke, no ruse; her sentiment was entirely unfeigned. She felt her mouth open and close for a moment or two, struggling to collect her faculties in that time.

"What are you..." she finally murmured, trailing off when Maria set aside her container. The older woman laced her fingers together, dropping them into her lap as she stiffened her spine. What she was about to propose had been on her mind for awhile, ever since the team and she had to dig through the old files of Strucker's contacts. The lay-off, while not ideal from Holly's perspective, actually played directly in Hill's wheelhouse, and she made the reason why fairly clear.

"The new facility is going to have to go through a round of hiring soon. I'd like to accomplish some of that here, in the next few days. Particularly for the office-based jobs." She shrugged, as if it wasn't another major task to get done, or at least partially completed, before the move. The original position Maria had in mind for her was not what she was about to offer; circumstances had changed that, and perhaps that was for the better. "It seems to be that we have a desperate need for filing and transferring recovered information, as well as storing for later use. If donations doesn't quite strike your fancy, there's that, instead. I've already got a couple people in mind for the team, but we could always use another archivist."

Another long moment of quiet followed, and Holly merely gaped at her through it. She had known she would need to start looking for new employment soon—she was in no way keen to simply sit back and be a burden on Steve, no matter his insistence that he would take care of her, whatever she decided. It was just incredible that a position like that would fall into her lap. The work would suit her, suit her skill set, and she would not have to worry overly much about money and bills, like she had feared.

"You're serious," she croaked, tipping her head to one side, the loose strands of her dark hair brushing her neck.

Maria smirked, the expression more genuine than it seemed on the surface. "Position comes with pretty decent benefits, considering we'll be out by the Adirondacks."

Part of her wanted to accept, right then and there. The paperwork would only take a few minutes, and she had no doubt that Maria had them on hand...somewhere. However, another part of her made her pause. It was a good position, sure, but it was a position with the newly reformed SHIELD. She would be working in close conjunction with other agents, have access to dangerous and upsetting information. It would bring her in deeper into the side of the world that had been Steve's domain up until that point, and while she had ingratiated herself to a certain point already, she was unsure she wanted to go deeper. She was unsure that Steve would want her to go deeper.

She needed to speak with him. Not to get his permission, no—that man knew better than to even begin to think that he could influence her in such a way. But they did need to discuss it; it would be another alteration to their lives together, and it was important for her to really consider whether she wanted to pursue that option.

"...Let me think about it."

"Okay." The look of comprehension Maria donned settled something within her, and the two went on with their midday meal. Cutting a quick glance back up, the older woman lightly intoned, "Don't leave it too long, though. Can't guarantee it will still be here."

Later that evening, when the work of the day was done, she found Steve forking through the leftovers in the quarter's kitchen, reheating a couple plates for them both. Forgoing sitting at the table, the pair took up their plates and leaned against the counters, close at hand and discussing the day's events. After being separated by the horrifying events caused by Ultron, and the subsequent aftermath, the couple did not stray far from one another in their downtime, a touch here and there connecting them as they spoke, discussed the meeting they would have with a potential photographer that Holly had set up, and the ring shopping they would need to do in the next day or so. There was quite a bit to do in the next four weeks, but she held out hope that they could do it.

Steve's strong arm looped around her waist as they picked at their food, his wry half-grin decorating his lips when he filched something off her plate. She merely rolled her eyes at him, swatting his hand when he tried to reach for more and instead distracting him with questions about his own wedding task, accomplished in the time free from interviewing. The pastor of the church he attended in his off-time (a nice enough fellow, Holly had thought when she'd met him; she went to services with Steve when it was possible, more often than she did on her own) had accepted their declaration to marry, with the proper notice, and he was willing to help them get through the premarital counseling as swiftly as could be. More meetings, he'd sighed, but at least the guy was more than happy to conduct the sessions quickly and over video chat, instead of requiring them to figure out how to get across town multiple times a week to do so.

Holly nodded, accepting the plan for what it was worth, tapping her finger along the edge of the counter as Steve's grip on her waist tightened.

"Something's on your mind," he pointed out, pushing his plate to one side and focusing on her. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he asked, "What is it, doll?"

For a moment, she just looked up at him, taking a steadying breath before speaking. "I got an offer."

"An offer?" he wondered curiously, an eyebrow lifting. Lighting upon an answer, he perked up a little, mouth quirking a bit. "Oh, for your book?"

Holly shook her head, feeling a little chagrined that after all that time, she still had heard nothing from any of the publishers she reached out to.

"No, not...not yet. I got an offer from Maria, for a job. As an archivist at the new base, not anything life-threatening or something like that." She felt Steve go still, rigid, his piercing blue gaze latching onto a point above her head. Thinking that perhaps he wasn't as willing to accommodate to the idea as she hoped, she tripped over her next words, attempting to make her case. "It...it would solve the unemployment problem, it wouldn't be too far away, and she promised pretty decent benefits, which I would probably have even if I just went with your stuff, but—"

Hands cupped her face, a kiss cutting her off midstream. Effectively muted, she let Steve drop another peck or two on her lips before pulling back again. Thumbs brushed along the skin of her cheeks, the comfort of the gesturing reassuring her.

"If you want it, sweetheart, then you should take it," he told her, reiterating his words from several days previous. Holly was the one who had to make the choice, and be happy with it. If working near at hand in the same vicinity as him, at a task that she would be good at (if not better than most) would make her happy, he would accept that. He'd promised her that much; truthfully, he was just relieved it wasn't an offer to become an agent. Though she'd sworn she would never be one to his face, that didn't mean he thought the idea would never be brought up to her by others. His eyes narrowed slightly, considering that last point, his expression evening out. "Just be wary for strings being attached."

Holly snorted outright at that, the truth of the statement too much to ignore. "Yeah, trust me, I'm keeping my eye on them. She hinted that I could have a higher-up position instead, if I'd asked."

Steve blinked, exhaled sharply. "And you didn't want it."

It wasn't a question; it was fairly obvious that he already knew the answer. Still, she felt compelled to verbalize the negative, anyway.

"Nope." Her eyebrows twitched closer together as she turned in his embrace, arms coming around and palms splaying along his back. "Does it bother you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Should it?"

Holly shook her head, smiling up at him. "I don't think so."

Steve returned the expression with a grin of his own, dipping his chin once. "Then there you go. Anything else?"

Letting out a short sigh of exultation, Holly removed one hand from his back, fingers sliding deftly into her pocket and removing her phone. Pressing the side button, the screen lit up, the time displayed on the front showing it to be half past the hour. There was another appointment to keep, one that could not be delayed any longer.

"Just that it's about that time." Tucking the phone away and removing herself from his arms, she turned and led the way into the living room, faltering in her stride slightly. Looking back at him, nervousness bled into her voice as she went on, "You'll still do it with me, right?"

"Yeah, I will," he confirmed, following her to the couch and sitting down with her. Her hands clenched into fists as she stared down at the coffee table, her laptop perched and waiting there. Gently, he pried one loose, fingers sliding between hers and a careful squeeze anchoring her with him. "Here. It'll be okay. You can do it. You've faced worse."

"Right, right," she murmured, looking at him with the adoration that still had not wavered. "And so have you."

He squeezed her hand again, a silent thank-you for the encouragement she'd given him in return. For a long minute or two, they sat there, the quiet of the quarters surrounding them.

"...You know, it will work out better if you actually turn the computer on, dear," Steve pointed out when it got to be too much, his body shifting with impatience as she remained unmoved. Dark eyes cut up at him, glittering with humor.

"Am I getting sassed by my tech-deficient fiancé?" Holly inquired lightly, giggling as he rolled his eyes at her.

"Keep stalling, Holl, see what happens."

She nodded, leaning back in her seat to do just that. "Okay, then."

"Oh, for the love of..." he grumbled, releasing her hand. Shuffling forward, he pushed up the screen of the computer, jabbing the power button and watching as the machine began to wake up. Fingers crept along his once more, their hands lacing together as the welcome chimes of the laptop fired up. Holly sat up again, typing in her password as smoothly as she could with one hand, waiting for the screen to change over. Opening up a video chat line, a couple minutes passed before the call connected. On the other end, two people swam into view, an older man and woman staring back at them. With a shift of silvered blonde hair, the woman came closer to the screen, the darker man beside her following suit.

"Holly, thank God!" Lisa Martin crooned, relieved tears surfacing in her bright eyes as she looked upon her daughter. With all that was going on, connections back to her family had been few and far between, but now that they were back home, there was no sense in putting it off any longer. Darting a look to the left, she inclined her head towards the couple, her husband Paul's gaze raking over them. "I'm so happy to see you...and you, too, Steve."

As Steve swallowed, his grip tightening around her hand, Holly took a shaky breath, her own tears pressed back viciously. She did not want to waste time on them, not when there was so much to discuss, when the bad did not outweigh the good.

"It's really good to see you, too, Mom. Hey, Dad." Meeting Steve's sharp glance, she coughed once, preparing herself for a long evening. "We, uh, we have a lot of catching up to do."

"I would say so," Paul replied, scooting his chair forward and lifting up a newspaper. "Seems like there's quite a bit to go over."

The headlines were stark, deep black against thin white, announcing the Avengers' efforts overseas and what they had planned for the future. Shifting in his seat, Steve cleared his throat, taking point with Holly right by his side as they explained the strange, dreamlike events of the last two weeks, and beyond.

* * *

 **A/N:** I guess when I said "time jump," I meant like a week and a few days from the last chapter. Still, had a few things to crank out before we jump farther ahead.

So Wanda and Pietro agree to part, Bucky goes to rehab, Nat has a lot to consider about her life, and Holly and Steve continue to charge ahead with...everything. Nice little summation there, huh?

Next chapter, I really do intend to jump ahead by a few more weeks, towards relocating to the New Avengers base, and more wedding plans interspersed. The wedding is coming, folks...like, two more chapters, I think. Truly, I'm trying to get there as soon as I can.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references that were made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	32. Chapter 32

A finger jabbed into the sleeping man's shoulder, forcing him out of his dozing. Blinking, his bright eyes adjusted to the early morning sunshine as it filtered through the clouds and the glass of the window to his right. The vehicle, a green taxi chosen for the specific purpose of driving him discreetly from the airport, had ground to a halt at the end of a gravel path, the weathered mailbox to the left the first to welcome him back. Clint Barton blinked, rubbing his eyes to rid himself of the sleep still in them, coughing once as he leaned into the backseat. Retrieving his bag, he nodded once to the driver, who definitely deserved a fairly decent tip for bringing him out all that way. The fellow seemed a little disgruntled, but when bills passed between them, his expression noticeably improved. Clint's was as well, a little smile forming as he climbed out of the car. After all, he was home.

"Thanks," he murmured quietly, grinning as the driver saluted him by touching a couple of fingers to his temple and gesturing him away. Barton waited as the car backed up, executing a turn and traveling back down the road they'd come from. He watched as it disappeared around the bend of the hill, not moving as the sounds of the engine dissipated into the morning air, leaving him with the distant chirp of birds and rustle of warm wind through the trees. Back home, to stay this time. For a moment, he stood there, soaking in the breeze, the openness of the sky above him, the scent of the greenery surrounding him. After so many days spent in dirt, concrete, blood and anguish, it was good to be centered somewhere calm and good.

When he returned from Seoul, Clint found he was unable to quite shake the events of the previous couple of weeks, found that it was becoming very difficult to push his promise to his wife down long enough to get the work done. He'd worked so hard at keeping his spot on the team, tried his damnedest to keep up, prove his worth, but the pay-off was not enough. If Ultron had taught him anything, it was how precious time was, and how easily it could be taken away from him and his family. Confessing as much to his wife when they'd retreated to the homestead, he knew the time had arrived to make a real decision about where he wanted to be, what place he wanted to fill. He no longer was as desperate to keep his spot, to be in the thick of it. He gave it his all, and it was time for the team to give back to him. His resignation, or at least partial retirement (he decided to leave the verbiage up to those processing the paperwork), was handed in with no regrets. Officially, he would be termed as a consultant, his pay maintained to support his family, but otherwise severing his ties from the field work. That part did not bother him overmuch. Saying good-bye was the only thing that detracted from the idea of finally leaving.

Each team member was accorded a farewell, with the obvious exclusion of Banner and the new members, who wished him well from a distance. Stark and Rogers were a bit more reserved in their good-byes, shoulder clasps and handshakes apiece, while the Odinson had squeezed him in an unbearably hard hug. Natasha merely looked upon him, blue eyes focusing on him intently, the barest hint of a grin curving her lips. As one, they nodded to each other, an understanding reached without a single word spoken. Before he departed to catch his flight, he did manage to catch his erstwhile self-defense pupil, expressing his apologies for not being able to stick around and teach her more useful stuff, as well as missing her nuptials to the captain. She'd shrugged it off, a swift gleam of sorrow glazing her gaze even as she attempted to smile and wish him luck. Gesturing for her phone, he took it when she gave it to him, plugging in a number.

"In case you do need to reach me, if you have any questions, this is my private line," he told her, handing it back. Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her in for a swift embrace, short so as to not prolong the twist of pain that was rising higher and higher with each good-bye. For a second or two, he debated saying what he was going to say next, but ultimately decided the kid had earned his trust. "Just so you know, if my wife answers, she may tie you up for awhile. She'll probably have a few questions of her own to ask you."

The look of shock decorating Holly's face as he drew away and shouldered his bag nearly made him laugh out loud, but he settled for a smirk and flick of his fingers as he pivoted on his heel, striding to the elevator. He was certain a phone call asking him to clarify would be in his future, but that would come later. The real surprise of his farewells came in the form of Wanda Maximoff. She'd met him at the door, just before he could exit the Tower. Like Nat, she did not have much to say. Instead, the red mists around her swirled and filtered, for once impressing her feelings upon him. Gratitude and grace filled him, and before he could structure a reply, her arms wrapped around his middle, her face burying into his shoulder. Her muffled thanks was whispered, barely audible, but in his head it had amplified so much that it seemed to have been shouted on a loudspeaker. He'd given her strength, hope. In his own way, in a short time, he had helped steady her, showed her how to find the depths of her courage and pull from it to make it her own. There was little else she could say or do. The last of his reticence, little though it was, melted away, and the witch was just simply a girl to him. A girl with extraordinary talent, and a promise for better things on the horizon. Very much like others he'd met before, and like some he would no doubt meet in the future. Softly, he returned her embrace, leaving her with no more than a smile as he finally got into the cab that would take him away to the airport.

Five and a half hours in total it had all taken, and now, he was home. Home again, home again.

"Jiggity, jig," he muttered under his breath, his boots crunching on the gravel of his driveway, pattering carefully up to the farmhouse at the end of the track, the weathered barn untouched and the lawn in a good need of a cutting. Later, he would see to the chores, set whatever he could to rights. There were other important matters to tend to. Climbing the front steps to the porch, he narrowly avoided the bat and ball left there from the day before, his hand turning the front knob silently. Avoiding the creaky slats of the floor, he tiptoed to the main archway, looking on his home with weary satisfaction. His boy and girl were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, dutifully reading as his wife instructed them to every morning before starting the homeschooling lessons for the day. Neither had noted his presence, so absorbed in their stories that the rest of the world ceased to be around them. A muted clank came from the kitchen, and his gaze tracked away from the kids to the woman, one hand on the kettle she just rinsed out and the other resting on the nearby counter. Deftly, he picked up the motion of her fingers, the way her thumb moved along the inside of the wedding ring perched there and making it shift. It was a habit she always had, fiddling with things when her thoughts were anxious. Years of insecurities and lack of assurances weighed down on her, that one little movement the only outward manifestation of her worry. Worry for him, maybe? Yes, partly; there was more going on in her life than just the high stress of his job. Well, used-to-be job. Perhaps it was time to assuage those fears.

Purposefully, he applied pressure with his left foot, the tiniest squeak of the floorboard underneath catching her attention. Turning carefully, her hand clenched in wariness, ready to swing or grab whatever she needed to protect her children and herself from an intruder, but it relaxed the instant her eyes met his. Long brown hair shifted over her shoulders as her head dipped, the bloom of love and relief hitting him full force. A true, happy smile spread over his lips, his chin dipping at her.

"Laura, kids," he murmured, raising his voice enough to break the children's reverie and dropping his bag to the ground. Immediately, Cooper and Lila's heads jerked up, the joy overflowing as they sprang from their spots on the sofa, books long forgotten in their haste to get to their father. Crouching down, Clint wasted no time in gathering his kids into his arms, holding them tightly and wishing to never let them go.

"Daddy! You're back!" Lila cried into his ear, arms looping around his neck and nearly shoving her brother out of the way. For his part, Cooper accepted the gracelessness of his sister, instead coming around to his father's other side and hugging him around the waist. A kiss was pressed into the little girl's hair, their smiles growing ever-wider as he held them for a moment longer. Gently, he put his daughter down, kneeling on the floor to be eye level with her.

"Yep, for a long time," he said, tucking an errant strand of her light brown hair behind her ear. Glancing up, he noticed the look of concentration on Cooper's face, the skepticism inside it making his heart twist.

"For how long?" his son inquired, the reluctance to ask very clear in his voice. His dad's work meant he often wasn't home, and when he was home, he never stayed around for more than a few weeks at a time. Would this just be another quick visit, one that would make it harder for them to let him go, that tore them up just a bit more than the last time did? Steadily, Clint met Cooper's gaze, bright blue meeting light brown with surety.

"For as long as you want me, kiddo," he pronounced, glimpsing his wife as she walked over to them all, reaching out to take her hand in his. His thumb swept over her knuckles, bringing them to his lips before standing up. Tears glittered in her eyes even as she grinned at him, cupping his face and pulling him down for a kiss, the disgusted groans of their children making her giggle.

"I suppose we could keep you around for awhile," Laura replied, noticing the lack of equipment and uniform amongst his things. The promise he'd made her before leaving, he had returned to keep. He had to make sure he knew what he wanted, from the team and from himself. It appeared that he had found his answer. Her hand dropped from his face, forefinger pointing downward. "You made it in time."

Looking down at the curve of her belly, he let out a short sigh. The baby was due within the month, and what had nagged him while he was completing relief follow-up the most was the thought that he would miss the birth of his second son. When Cooper was born, he was halfway across the world, stuck in an enemy hideout without food, backup, and having no idea if he would ever get to meet his child. With Lila, he was late by ten minutes, Nat having driven him from the airport to the hospital like a deranged maniac just to get him there at all. This time, he would be there. This time, he would be with his family as they grew.

"Yeah...I did," he said, palm resting on her stomach, the briefest flutter of movement sending a jolt of pure happiness through him. Clint knew where he needed to be, where his place was on the earth. It was there, in that farmhouse, with the woman he loved and the children they adored. With the child still yet to come. Pecking her temple, he cast another look around his home, his focus settling on the archway leading off the kitchen. "Hey, Laur, what do you think about me re-purposing the dining room?"

Her answering snicker tempered the exasperated roll of her eyes, her hand linking with his and drawing him farther into the room.

"Finish the floors first, and then we'll talk," she stipulated, nodding for the kids to go and gather up the projects they'd worked on since he'd left. As the clattering up the stairs dimmed, she stretched up to kiss him again, all repressed emotion flooding from her to him in that instant. Leaving him breathless, her arms linked around his shoulders, chin resting there as he held her tightly. "Welcome home, Clint."

 **xXxXxXx**

Blowing out a breath, Holly leaned against the bare wall of her bedroom, pulling the binder from her short ponytail. Attempting to tame her waves in the rising humidity of the day and tie securely again, she made short work of the task. Brushing down her t-shirt, she cast a glance around the room, scanning for anything she might have overlooked. It was unlikely, given that a good majority of her things were already out, but it never hurt to check. From down the hall, she heard the huff of her companion, the groan and shift of a heavy box of belongings being dropped to the ground. She winced despite knowing the box in question would not be holding anything valuable. Peering around the doorjamb, she met the green gaze of Sarah, blonde curls swinging her pigtails as she shook her head.

"Not much left, huh?" she called out, flapping a hand at the remainder of the apartment.

"Nope, just scrubbing down the bathroom and then we're done," Holly murmured, an upsurge of relief spreading through her. Mulling it over further, she shrugged a shoulder. "Well, after a last sweep."

With everything in her life accelerating, rocketing towards the future she was forging with Steve, she knew that she could not delay the inevitable. Much as she hated the moving process (and who didn't really?), it was necessary. Given how frustrated her landlord had been over the window-cutting incident last September, and the subsequent implication of Stark tech in his buildings, he was visibly pleased when she went to the leasing office and announced her intentions to break lease. Frankly, the promise of trouble looming on the horizon, not to mention the fanboys who littered the grounds every now and again, was not worth protesting the loss of rent. He gave her until the 31st to be gone, strongly encouraging her to leave before then. The process was unfortunately drawn out; Holly had few reasons to be grateful to be lack employment before June, but in that instance, she was more than happy for it. Finding the time to drive five hours just to pack up and haul stuff back the way she'd came was just irritating.

For a moment, she envied Sam Wilson; while he was making the location change just as she was, he was not about to sell his house. Instead, a cousin of his would be taking up residence, paying him so he could continue to send in mortgage checks and keep his home that way. His moving process involved a lot less stuff being shunted from one place to another. Meanwhile, her things would be split between the captain's quarters at the Tower, and the smaller suite of rooms set up for them at the new base. The very least she could be glad about was Sarah kindly offering her time and help to get the major furniture prepared for shipping, and the little things into boxes. Steve helped as much as he could, but the last Saturday of the month was when the last major components for the new base were to be transported, and he had to go with it. She would be driving back to the Tower that night, departing for the new base the next morning.

Sarah quirked an eyebrow, her voice cutting across her friend's thoughts. "Last sweep?"

Shaken back to the present, Holly nodded, pulling her phone out and tapping through her apps to find the one connected to the cameras installed in the apartment.

"Gotta get the security cams off the walls. They're Stark tech, and worth quite a bit of money. Money that I don't have to replace if I leave them behind," she reminded Sarah, the petite blonde canting her head as she recalled their existence. "Plus, the new tenants probably won't appreciate potentially spied on by Tony."

"Would he do that?"

"Not to my knowledge. If he did, he'd have a lot more ammo to tease Steve and me with. You know, if he didn't think his retinas would be burned out of their sockets from the free show." The deadpan look Holly shot Sarah caused the smaller woman to crack a grin, and soon enough both of them were chuckling at the billionaire's words. "Believe me, he's very vocal about not tapping into these particular cameras."

An eye roll came after that, and a few fingers flicked in the air, brushing off the statement. "Okay, like I've said before, the idea of the tech's cool, but it's a little weird that this clearly was a conversation you had, and it seems normal to you all."

There was nothing Holly could do but shrug at that. She had a point, after all. Such conversations were definitely becoming the norm in her life, and there was little she could do to change that. Or, more accurately, she did not want to change that. Pulling up the schematic that had been laid down months ago in her phone, she pointed at various spots, going to the bathroom boxes and removing a couple pairs of tweezers. Handing off a pair to Sarah, she showed her the planted cameras along sills and arches, gently prying away the ones by the living room windows and front door while her friend went into the kitchen and dining nook to do her share. Each camera was deposited into an envelope prepared for the task, to be kept safe for the time being.

Soon enough, the entire apartment was cleaned and scrubbed down, bathroom accoutrements and other assorted items moved into the trunk and back seat of Holly's car. For a long moment, she stood in the living room, turning slowly in a circle as she stared at the scrubbed walls and scuffed floors. Five years she had lived there, and they were good years, full of every little emotion and change that had been wrought in her life. It had been a haven, a refuge, not only just for her but for the people in her life. Scattered memories flashed in her mind, movies with Sarah overtaken by dinners with Steve, the crash of the shield and Bucky crumpling onto her floor. Images of friends, family, filtered in and out, making the place fill out into a real home. The image of a ring dropping into her hand rose, shaking fingers taking hers as she said yes. From the doorway, Sarah cleared her throat, quietly reminding her that the landlord was waiting for the return of the keys. Coughing once, Holly nodded, stepping away from the space, from the memories there. Her thumb ran along the wall as she walked, and with a final clunk (and a discreet wipe of the eyes) the lock slid into place. Her fingers worked at the keyring in hand as she went, small curses sputtered under her breath as she eventually got it and the mail key loose.

With the small things returned and her forwarding address given, Holly noted the shift of the sun, the afternoon continuing to shift to evening. Having a few hours free before she had to get on the road again, she and Sarah went around the city. Mostly it was just that: driving around, watching familiar signs and sights go by, anonymity retained as they went along, songs on the radio filling in the silence when their chatter petered off. After grabbing something to eat at one of the fast food places, Holly suggested going to the National Mall for a bit. It was pretty there, in the early summer, and she wouldn't be able to see it again for awhile. Sarah agreed to the idea, and within a half hour they were perched on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, staring out towards the tree-lined reflecting pool and the people making laps around it. The unseeing eyes of the president loomed behind them, the columns surrounding the statue helping to obscure them from sight as they sat and stared ahead of them. For a long time, neither of them spoke, instead sitting side-by-side in silence. Occasionally one would nudge the other, pointing obviously at the monuments or shouldering giant cameras and trying not to trip up the steps as they went.

"Thanks, Sare," Holly piped up, her friend's attention diverted from the glistening waters before them. A hesitant half-smile greeted her words, eyebrows inclining slightly.

"For what?"

The brunette shrugged, cupping a palm in the air. "For indulging me in this cheesy, last-minute touristy thing I wanted to do."

Sarah snorted, sitting up straighter and a glint of humor slanting over her eyes. "I'm just here to watch you get more and more aggravated with people when they narrowly miss running into you in front of Lincoln. The cool view is an added bonus."

Holly barked out a laugh at that, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. Another beat or two passed before Sarah spoke again, her gaze softening slightly.

"Can't believe you're leaving."

Glimpsing her out the corner of her eye, Holly's lips twisted. "You've had three weeks to adjust. But I know what you mean. It's..."

She trailed off, the words escaping her for the moment. There were too many emotions and descriptions for her situation that narrowing it down was difficult.

"Scary?" prompted Sarah, tugging on a blonde curl that had worked its way out of her pigtails. Tilting her head to the left, the other woman considered it.

"And exciting, and different, and...a lot of other good words that I can't think of."

"A writer who can't think of descriptors?" tutted the blonde, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. "Shame on you."

A low chuckle came out of Holly's mouth, eyes fastening on her worn sneakers. "Yes, how dare I?"

"Moving, starting a new job...and getting married in another couple of weeks. You're insane."

"I thought we established that a long time ago."

"I'm in shock that you're even conscious right now," Sarah intoned, the seriousness of her voice countered by the playful poke she gave her in the arm.

"Coffee has been my constant companion for over a month now," was the confession, and she could attest to the truth of it. Holly had been fueled by so much caffeine since the beginning of May that her tolerance for it had risen sharply; it had to, given how much she had going on at once and trying to keep things from toppling over. A shoulder lifted, a sweet smile creasing her lips as she looked at her friend again. Gently, she laid a palm on Sarah's shoulder, squeezing it for emphasis. "And it helps to have some really great people to rely on."

In spite of her resolve, the blonde felt a a few tears prick at her eyelids. Staunchly forcing them down and pushing out a grin, she groaned, "Okay, you're making the moment cheesier than before."

Her shoulder was squeezed once more, and then Holly's hand was dropping back into her lap. After a moment or two, Sarah nudged her with her elbow, nodding to indicate a passing gaggle of teenage girls, their bright chatter broken by their rising cell phones and calls to get into the frame as they snapped a picture. A night out, away from parents, away from school and other responsibilities, their futures assured in their eyes. Both of the older girls smiled at the group's banter, with them moving along swiftly as one of their number pointed across the way towards the trees lining the pool.

"What am I gonna do without you around?" whispered Sarah, the tears she was holding back threatening to break free. Holly's lashes fluttered, red coming into her cheeks as she felt the well of emotion climb up in her. She had no real answers for her best friend of five years; it wasn't the first time, but she honestly wished she had something to tell her, to reassure her. This, this was what she had been dreading about moving: saying farewell to her. It stuck in her throat, and clearing it barely helped.

"Dunno," she murmured eventually, tapping a finger on her knee and sighing inaudibly. Guess you're just going to have to come up to New York more often if you want to see me."

"That could happen." An arm slung around Holly's shoulders and Sarah sighed again. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you, too, Sare," Holly told her, the honesty hitting them full force. It would be tough, living far away from her best friend, but they would manage. It was the age of technology, after all; video calls and texts and maybe even a trip or two into the city would happen. It would be different; if she could make it work with Steve for nearly nine months, she could keep in touch with Sarah. A thought came to her, and she wagged a finger playfully as she shifted forward subtly in her seat. "But not for too long...still have that down-to-the-wire bachelorette party to have."

Taking that as her cue, Sarah rose from her spot on the steps, proffering a hand to help Holly up. "You're lucky I like you enough to plan that."

"Yep, I know," she said, taking the petite woman's hand and hauling herself up. Slowly, they made their way down the steps, the glow of the sinking sun filtering around them as they headed back to where she'd parked the car. "Heck, if it comes down to getting drunk on wine and watching rom-coms with a cheese plate, I'll be happy."

Sarah snorted loudly. "Oh, please. I'll be trying a little harder than that."

It was only a short drive (in relative terms; city driving was so varied) back to Sarah's place, the brunette and the blonde saying no more as the Buick rolled into the parking lot. Shifting into park, Holly turned in her seat to look at her friend, the inevitable moment arriving. To her credit, Sarah did not burst into tears. She was made of sterner stuff, and she would not spoil the upturn of her companion's future with unnecessary bawling. Rather, she just unclasped her seat belt and leaned over, looping her arms around her and holding on tightly as she hugged her back.

"Safe travels. Call me when you get there," she said, the request a common one she had made over the years. Even if she hated the idea of Holly leaving, she didn't want her to run into trouble on the way out. A hand patted her back, and her eyelids slammed shut as she heard Holly cough to rid herself of the thickness in her throat. "And tell Steve I said hi."

"I will," she breathed, letting go slowly. "Bye, Sare."

"See you in a couple weeks, Holl," she promised, opening the door and climbing out of the car. As she let it slam shut, she gave her best friend a watery smile, the wave of her fingers returned after a few seconds. The subtle shift of the car's gears came soon after, and the Buick began to accelerate away from the curb, one last wave on the other side of the glass sent her way. The vehicle turned a corner, vanishing from sight, and with a shaky breath, Sarah pivoted on her heel, stepping up to her own apartment, her own home. There was still quite a bit for her to do, and she would not waste time on tears. They would see each other again very soon.

That in mind, she straightened her stance and went inside, the outer door of the building locking behind her with a click.

 **xXxXxXx**

Waking up from a deep sleep was not gradual in the case of Steve Rogers. A little after three o'clock in the morning on June 1st, his eyes just snapped open, the inky darkness of the bedroom. Groggy, he reflexively slid a hand through his hair, tousling it more as he moaned in frustration. There was no reason to be up at that hour, not that day. Dropping his hand onto the comforter, it thumped down against the mattress. Curiously, it had not accidentally landed on the slumbering form of his fiancée; in fact, her side of the bed felt cool and empty. After moving for two straight days, he had thought she was exhausted, and would maybe actually sleep through the night in spite of being in a new place. Evidently, that was not the case. His brow furrowed in the darkness, and in turn he rolled onto his side, wanting to rise and figure out where she had gone.

Turning on the lamp on his bedside table, Steve blinked blearily as he sat up, confusion flooding through him. Pushing the sheets back, he climbed out of the bed, scrubbing his face as he exited the room. In the hall, his foot brushed against a stack of boxes that still had yet to be unpacked, the scrape against his skin making him mutter curses under his breath. Though a good portion of their things had been put away, there still a good amount left, so they had sectioned it off by rooms. Thus far, the bathroom and kitchen were taken care of, and the bedroom was partially finished with (mostly in that they had a change of clothes for the next day, and Holly's bed had been brought in to replace the one installed there already. Steve may not have been a huge fan of mattresses, but he found that he slept better on her bed than on any other). Looking from left to right, he peered into the private office space and the bathroom, with no evidence of another person within. The kitchen area and living room were likewise empty, and he frowned to himself. Scanning around again, he spotted a piece of notebook paper left on the nearby counter. Looking at the looping scrawl, he sighed to himself, reassuring himself of Holly's absence and therefore her safety. She had gone exploring, she had written, and she did not intend to be gone too long. If he woke up before she got back, she wanted to let him know that she was just in the base somewhere, having a look around.

Shaking his head, Steve went back into the bedroom, pulling on a pair of sweats over his boxers and grabbing his phone. Wandering back into the front hall, he pocketed his keys and slipped his running shoes on before exiting the quarters. Sliding the lock behind him, he tapped into his phone, contacting the new AI in charge of the security of the new base. After a few seconds, it had found Holly, his eyebrows inclining as it revealed her location: on the rooftop, near the helicopter landing pad. Slowly, he wound his way down the long halls, taking the emergency stairs two at a time as he went. Going through the propped-open door, he made sure the block of wood was still in place as he maneuvered over it. Exhausted blue eyes trailed around the pad as he walked around the helicopter, an A branded on its side and lit up by a couple of flood lights. Soon enough, he spotted a woman at the far rail, her wavy hair freed from bonds and stirring in the wind. She leaned forward, staring out into the blackness of the night, focusing beyond the reach of the sparse outdoor lights of the base and on the mountains just beyond the bounds of the property, a dark swatch blotting out the stars that could be seen. Treading softly, he stopped a few feet behind her, watching her shift in her sandals, admiring the tilt of her hips beneath the sweats and the line of her back against the material of her shirt as she settled again. It battled against the tiredness of his mind, his jaw and tongue loosening.

"You're up early."

Turning quickly at the sound of his voice, Holly's look of surprise faded away, replaced by a tired grin. Gesturing for him to join her at the rail, she waited to speak until he was beside her, mimicking her posture from earlier and letting his arms rest on the cool metal.

"Couldn't help it," she murmured, a knowing glance shot at him. He understood all too well her inability to sleep soundly in new places, so he wasn't terribly surprised that she'd done so. Her thumb tapped at the rail as she went on, "Since I couldn't fall back asleep, I decided to take a look around while it was still fairly quiet around here."

A half-smile curled his lips. "Even with everybody setting up today, it will still be quieter than the city."

"True," Holly replied, exhaling softly. Shuffling sideways, she tiled her head, letting rest upon his shoulder. Tipping her chin towards the black shapes beyond the light, she said, "It's very pretty, or at least it is during the day. Never thought I'd live near mountains."

"Me, either."

True enough. Back when he was no more than that little guy from Brooklyn, he never imagined a future in which he'd live upstate, let alone near a mountain range. Hell, back in the day, he could barely imagine a future where he wouldn't be stuck in the cramped tenement he shared with his mother, the broke, Irish-American boy destined to live and die in the city. It was a new experience, he could say that much.

"I mean, the freakin' Adirondacks are right there, Steve," Holly emphasized, jerking her thumb out towards the range in question.

Chuckling a little at her upsurge of enthusiasm, he remarked, "Yes, dear, I know."

A breeze stirred the trees in the darkness, the shifts of the branches reaching their ears as the wind moved past them, gliding over the man and woman standing on the rooftop, their sleep clothes stirred. The heat of summer had not fully pierced the place, and so it was a bit chillier than one would have expected. Beside him, Holly attempted to repress a shiver, disguising it as best she could by stiffening her spine and tucking her hair behind her ear. Not fooled in the slightest, Steve tucked his arm around her, pulling her closer to share his heat and warm her up a little. Without hesitation, she leaned into his embrace, an arm looping around his back and squeezing him in silent thanks.

"Ready for today?" Holly inquired, an edge of nervousness in her voice. It was to be the official opening of the new base, with agents and trainees coming in to start work, doctors and office workers preparing to set up shop and represent the team with the best of their ability. The new Avengers would be put through trials to determine the amount of training they would receive as the day-to-day operations were structured around them. It was the start of something new for both of them, in a way, and she knew for a fact that she was a little tense about the possibilities.

Steve let out a sharp breath, canting his head to the side. "I could say I was born ready, but that is both corny and...patently untrue."

"But still..." she trailed off, watching him as he turned the notion over in his head.

"Still, I think I am, yeah. And you?"

"Considering that my work doesn't actually start until tomorrow, yeah. I'm ready to stake my desk and do tech hook-up."

"Not to mention meet the people you'll be working with," he pointed out helpfully. A muted groan bubbled up in her chest.

"Oh, yeah," she said, the tenor of her voice turning uncertain. "God, I hope they don't suck."

"There you go. Remain positive," he murmured, smiling blandly at the skeptical glance she shot up at him. Dropping a peck in her hair, he inhaled carefully. "Your coworkers will probably be no worse than mine."

A snort shot out of her, dark eyes warming as she looked into his blue. "Glad to know I can count on your support, sweetheart."

A hand came up to cup her chin, drawing her into a sweet, slow kiss, lips parting beneath his as his fingers slid back into her hair. She gripped at his shirt, balling up as she pressed against him, the length of her body molding to his. A minute or two passed before he pulled away, the haze in his eyes reflecting adoration, and something deeper. Bussing her lips once more, he rested his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

"Always. C'mon, let's get back to bed," he said, bodily turning them both from the railing. His hand slipped around her waist as they walked around the helicopter, the heat of his palm bleeding into her shirt. "There might be something we can do to get you to fall asleep."

"Oh, and what would that be?" she asked, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. Her own grip around him tightened minutely, the sway of her body moving with his. A playful grin cropped up on his face, a mischievous glint in his gaze.

"I've heard a glass of warm milk can do the trick."

The appeal of the idea to her was apparent from the way her face scrunched up in distaste. "Ew."

"Don't knock it until you've tried it," he retorted, a silent snicker wracking him as she clicked her tongue at him. Arm in arm, he guided her back inside, the cavernous stairwell and empty hallways echoing their soft footfalls as they went.

 **xXxXxXx**

The orange and black Audi turned off the main road, finally off the freeway for the first time in over three hours. The melting of the cityscape into greenery and scattered towns was jarring, and made the driver a little nervous the farther away he got. Still, that would not deter him from making the trip...even if he was deliberately toeing the line in regards to his probationary status in going. Eh, Tony resolved to stay out of the labs; no sense in actively pushing it.

The new Avengers base was miles away from the nearest town, set upon the framework of an old Stark Industries storage facility. Relocation of the product left over was not difficult, as there was little left there to begin with; the site's popularity had dwindled since the early nineties, and this just gave him the excuse to get the last of it out. As he negotiated a left turn onto a frontage road, glancing in his mirrors as he went, he let out a breath. He had not been there in some time to oversee the last few weeks of work, indeed, the panes of glass were being shipped out the last he'd heard, still to be placed on the eastern walls. It made him nervous,though he would not show it. The dark brown of his irises reflected relief as he broke past the treed lane, the dirt road winding up to the bright and clean building at the end of it. The silver A on the broad, white wall of the main facility stood proud in the midday light, a clean contrast to the unending walls of trees on the edges of the property, the mountains looming in the distance. Tapping a button on his steering wheel, he overrode the opening mechanics of the garage door, it sliding back in time for him to enter it with care and precision. The rumble of a landing quinjet penetrated through the shell of his vehicle, causing him to jump slightly. Refusing to be miffed by the noise, Tony merely cleared his throat to himself, brushing down the jacket over his layered tee and clipping his shades onto his collar before stepping out of the car. Glancing around the vast space, he bent down and reached into the center console, removing the remote tracker for the vehicle and straightening in time for a familiar baritone to call out to him in greeting. Spotting the tall, blond fellow, the billionaire snorted. Steve Rogers was already suited up for the day, heavy boots tromping and the star on the center of his chest flashing. Obviously it had been freshly cleaned, thankfully, and obviously the little missus-to-be had not been able to persuade him into wearing normal clothes for the day. Oh, well, wasn't any of his business, and he merely tutted to himself under his breath.

"Hey, Cap," he returned, tapping Steve's shoulder when he got close enough. "Shouldn't you be off rallying the troops or something?"

"Believe me, the troops are more than capable of getting themselves together," Rogers retorted lightly, a smirk decorating his mouth. The others were occupied with tidying their own spaces, watched over by Natasha and Fury in the interim. Tipping his head back towards the door he'd come out of, he continued, "Let's go make the rounds."

It was no secret that Stark would be arriving for a short tour. He intended to cast his eye around the place, catch the detail that had been missed in the hasty assembly of the facility and order more work to be done as needed. As well as that, he was curious as to the number of people who would be on the payroll for the foreseeable future. Shortly put, he was nosy and he was curious—a deadly combination that had plagued him for much of his life. In certain endeavors, of course.

"Friend Stark! I'm pleased you came!" Thor cried upon seeing him coming into the main facility. A bone-crushing embrace was dealt to him. Normally, he would've objected or even squirmed, but as the god was scheduled to be leaving the earth after the final inspection of the new base, he couldn't begrudge him the hug. Instead, he just shifted awkwardly, patting the behemoth of a fellow on his back and managing a small grin once he was released.

"Well, I do own the place, technically; wouldn't be a good landlord if I didn't check it out on opening day," Tony replied, tucking his hands into his pockets and shifting in his stance.

"Despite having your tenants move in beforehand?" Steve rejoined, grinning at his roll of the eyes and gesturing for him to follow.

All in all, the facilities were impressive, even more so for the compressed time frame it was built in. The design of it had allowed for an underground garage expansion, the entrance off the frontage road disappearing into a roll of hill. Landing platforms were built on the ground, a helicopter pad on the roof that would lead from a large service elevator down to the open spaces of the offices, and hospital bay. Conference rooms opened up from the main halls, acting as temporary holding stations for computers and bins as agents scurried around, finding places for everything. Labs were scattered sporadically throughout the building, varying from weapons work to robotics depending upon which floor you visited. A large training arena with all the latest gadgetry and equipment took up the eastern side of the building, the large glass panes installed on time and thick enough to withstand most wayward shots, even in mock battle. They were also tinted to discourage gawkers from trying to get a peek inside as the heroes went about their work. The private apartments in the back weren't nearly as spacious as the ones available in the Tower, but they were comfortable for those who elected to live onsite. A good number of the hired agents and laboratory techs had chosen to commute to work, scattering across the towns closest to the base, but the team members had rooms on reserve indefinitely, as well as the upper management.

The talk amongst the three males making the survey had shifted from the staff (Helen Cho had arrived the night before, but was eager to get her work station set up, and Dr. Selvig had a team of college students trailing behind him as they passed) to the future of the new team. There had been long discussions over the last few weeks in regards to what should be done about the Vision. The creature had, thus far, posed no threat to his fellow teammates, but the jewel encased upon his forehead still gave them pause. If what Thor had said was true, then it could potentially be a disaster waiting to happen. The god, however, was of the mind that the android could be trusted. After all, he had wielded Mjolnir; if he was deemed worthy of that, then why should he not live and keep the stone in which the greatest source of his power came from? However, that merely reopened the Mjolnir debate from the end of the last month and what it could truly deem worthy. Thor let the conversation go on, chuckling to himself. Since the captain and Stark agreed upon so little, it was worth the ribbing they were giving him about it all.

"In spite of the speculation, I am saddened to leave," he expressed a short time later, blue eyes clouding over as he spoke.

"You don't have to. I mean, there's that whole Cap-getting-hitched thing happening in a couple weeks," Tony pointed out quickly, betraying his wish for his friend to stay in that instant. "You sure you can't stick around? A few days wouldn't make too much of a difference."

"As much as I regret missing the happy day, I must go, Friend Stark, Friend Steve," Thor reiterated, nodding to each man in turn. A wistful smile was sent in the captain's direction, his sorrow clear, but his resolve swiftly returned. It hardened his face as he considered his dreams of late, of the birth of the Vision and the resulting power showed in the Mind Stone. That he had to go was beyond question, even if he loathed parting from those he cared about (the last good-bye he'd shared with Jane just days ago still tore at his heart). "A startling number of the Infinity Stones have appeared in the last four years alone. To say it's troubling is—"

"—An understatement," Stark supplied, his mouth set in a grim line as he pondered it. Thor nodded, the loose strands of his hair swaying as he did so. Steve said nothing, but the grimace he sported was enough to go by. Pressing a hidden button on the interior wall, the glass panels of the hall they were striding down opened, allowing a flood of fresh air to stream in as they stepped out onto the grounds. On the upper deck, a group of trainees sprinted by, their instructor barking at them to keep up as they went. A cloud of dust was dissipating on the frontage road nearby; evidently, the last of the truck hauling in equipment had arrived, their streaked hulls peeking out from the other side of the hill.

"Yes. This feels too...orchestrated to be mere chance," Thor confessed, his brow screwing up in concentration. Everything, from Loki's attempted congress of Midgard up until Ultron, seemed to be connected, a force behind every event hovering just beyond sight in his mind. And that made him uneasy, for the earth and for his friends upon it. "An unknown hand is pushing us across the board, ever closer. Towards what I do not know. "

"Yet," Steve countered, consideration in his expression. "But there's a good chance you can figure it out?"

The god smiled ruefully, stepping away from them. "Better than most. I wish you well, my friends, while I am gone." His focus latched on one fellow, then the other, as he squared his stance and spread his feet. "In all that you do."

"Good luck," the captain said, he and the billionaire instinctively backing away a few feet as the air around them began to pop and crack. The smell of ozone crashed through the air, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing up as Thor raised his hand to the sky, Mjolnir extended. The rush and whirl of the wind caught his cape, billowing it out as the portal away from the world opened. In a moment, he disappeared in a flash of color and brightness, the effect of the portal leaving emptiness and a peculiar design in the grass.

Tony raised an eyebrow, putting on his sunglasses and shaking his head. "Should I call the landscaping crew now or later?"

Blinking, Steve shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know; maybe we should leave it. It could act as a landing spot for him when he comes back."

"At least it looks interesting," the billionaire muttered, taking the remote out of his pocket and clicking it twice. The garage door to the frontage road popped open, and soon enough his car came rolling out, unmanned. Used to the genius' machinations, Steve barely allowed a flicker of surprise to show on his face. Ignoring the look the captain shot him, Tony canted his head and went on, "It'll be a lot quieter without him around, too. So many coming and going in such a short span of time."

"Everything changes, whether we want it to or not," the captain said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Sometimes for the better," Stark remarked, frowning a little to himself. At Pepper's request, he'd started seeing a licensed therapist (since Banner was gone for the time being), and while he wasn't overly pleased with having to do so, he accorded the guy some respect. He just didn't realize he'd accorded him enough to begin reflecting the guy's slightly-upbeat attitude. Flapping a hand in the air, he murmured, "Maybe Barton's got it right; living out in the middle of nowhere, little house, family...people you care about around you."

"There's a reason why the idea holds so much appeal, and has for a long time."

"Don't know if that will ever be my speed," muttered Tony, his posture stiffening as he paused in his steps. Glancing slyly at the captain, he said, "I figured it'd be yours, with your eventual missus, but...here you are, still. Both of you."

Steve's bright gaze dropped to the ground for a moment as he thought about it, reflected on the truth of his colleague's words. "What I wanted then, and what I have and need to do now...are very different. We're figuring it out, one step at a time."

"Some pretty fast steps, as far as some things go. Can't blame you for it, though." The fellow inclined his head towards the facility, affording himself one more look. "But for now, you're both set on calling this home?"

For a moment, Steve looked beyond him, towards the base. It was as if his gaze could pierce through the fire block and concrete, beyond the milling masses to the bank of offices on the first floor, where the archives department was set up. As if he could see the pretty brunette bent over her computer, lines creasing her forehead as she concentrated on work, a hand scrubbing at it and an easy laugh pouring out when someone pointed it out to her. After a few seconds, his blue gaze shifted back to the man in front of him, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"If I'm with her, any place is home to me."

The silence that followed sat between them, with Stark's eyes widening beneath the glasses and Steve's honesty lacing his entire person.

"Wow..." Tony breathed out. Raising an eyebrow, he wondered, "I'm curious, which title would you object to me calling you less: The Cheese King or Sultan of Sap?"

Steve snorted. "Fire your writer, Stark, you were reaching on that one."

"Can't really do anything about that," the billionaire said, posture relaxing and hand extending. When the captain clasped it and they shook hands, he continued, "See you in a couple weeks, Steve. You'll need to have your game face ready by then. Sam's made some interesting promises about the stag party."

"I'm sure he has," Steve groaned, a laugh coloring his words. Letting go of his grip, he watched as the dark-haired man turned on his heel, opening his car door. "Bye, Tony."

With a final nod, Stark got in and fired up the Audi, roaring down the dirt road and stirring up dust clouds as he went. Instead of feeling annoyance, the captain settled his hands on his belt pack, smirking a little as the engine's revving faded into the distance.

"Hey, Cap, am I gonna have to put the recruits through their paces on my own, or are you coming in?" a feminine voice called from the hallway hatch, and when he turned around, he was met with Natasha's piercing gaze and arched eyebrow. Off her knowing smirk, he simply nodded his head and moved towards her, pulling himself to his full height as he walked.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming, Romanoff."

There would be enough time to ponder the warning in Thor's words, and Stark's reflections on the future. For now, there was work to be done. The new team was not ready for the major leagues yet, but they could get a good start that day.

* * *

 **A/N:** So this is the official end of all the events of _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ , albeit with the AU twists. However, this story is not over just yet. We still have a wedding to get to...which we will, very shortly here. And I intend to have some fun with the bachelor party...just saying. ;)

By the way, the section where Holly and Sarah say good-bye—which is not the end of their friendship, but it is still a significant event—took forever to write. Mainly because moving away and leaving friends is hard enough to do, let alone write about. But I hope it turned out alright.

Yep, we're getting back to the sweet and sappy romance part of the story, so I hope you're all okay with that.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor any other pop culture references mentioned.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	33. Chapter 33

The two weeks went by quicker than Steve thought would be possible. While there was a lack of HYDRA insurgents to deal with, he did have the matter of training the new recruits. While he had worked with Sam before, and obviously Nat as well, it was a shift in gears to include Wanda and Colonel Rhodes into the fray. Fighting styles and strategies had to be adapted and changed, as the girl's powers were still developing (the Vision had confirmed as much, supposing that as long as she lived, they would alter and grow accordingly). Including the android was another step further. It was quite a change, adjusting to training without Tony's snark, or Clint's muttered retorts, but the challenge was met with gusto.

Before he knew it, he was leaving the base, back to New York City, to prepare for his last night of being a single man. Holly had preceded him down on Thursday night, meeting her family at the airport and getting them all settled in the hotel. A last-minute bridal shower was had that evening, with Natasha and Wanda in attendance, as well as a few of her friends from D.C. He chose to leave early in the morning on Friday, meeting her directly at the city hall to obtain the marriage certificate. After much waiting (and inevitable recognition, which resulted in several pictures with the others in line who wanted a moment with Captain America), and with the production of the necessary papers, they had it, ready to be signed after the ceremony the next day. From there, they went to Fort Hamilton, the chapel and the community club their chosen venues. Some set-up needed to be done, and the minister had gathered them and the rest of the bridal party for the rehearsal. Some of the soldiers at the fort had wandered by, the prospect of the great American hero and his bride choosing it for their wedding intriguing. As per an arrangement to have a wedding there on short notice, and in June, Steve and Holly agreed to having the ceremony projected on a live feed to the soldiers and officers, as well as inviting a select number to be a part of the reception. They had conceded on the terms, though it did make them have to reconfigure placements and such; it was the best they could get on such short notice, and they were unlikely to get a better deal than that, unless they waited longer. Already neck-deep in the plans, Holly had consented to the idea—leaving Steve to reconsider the security detail they would no doubt need.

Once the rehearsal had been done, and dinner with the bridal party had been finished, it was time for the fun to begin. Or so Sam had promised; he had taken to his role as best man, and was eager to get into the thick of it. They went their separate ways from the ladies, meeting with the others in front of the Tower. Holly's brother Hank, acting as the other groomsman, had gone with them, speaking to Sarah's boyfriend Aaron (who was still somewhat in a state of shock that he merited an invitation to the bachelor party; Sam had met the guy, and figured there would be no harm in having him come along since he'd be up for the wedding, anyway). Stark was waiting for them, along with Rhodes and Pietro, who had just managed to arrive an hour or two earlier. Straight off the plane, he'd gone into the city, joining them for the camaraderie. A ball cap was crammed onto Steve's head as they climbed into the limousine the billionaire was allowing them to borrow, the word "groom" stitched across it in white letters. He gave a faux grimace as the others ribbed him for the new attire—especially given the proclivity of the team to favor that particular garment in public—but the tiny glint of humor in his eyes could not be subdued. The lights and sirens of the city were muted as they were whisked down the streets, curious onlookers watching as they passed by.

"So what do you have planned for us, O Winged One?" Tony asked a few minutes into the drive, after Wilson had given the driver the address of their destination. Opening a side panel, he went straight for a bottle of scotch, small tumblers passed around and the amber liquid splashed into the glasses. A swift toast was made, the fellows all taking healthy drinks from their cups in honor of the occasion. Tapping a finger on his knee, he continued, "I know more booze is a given, despite a certain person's permanent and burdensome sobriety."

Steve rolled his eyes to the ceiling of the limo. "Said person hasn't gone deaf in the last ten seconds, Stark."

"Still, it's time to tell, Wilson. Whatcha got planned?" Tony demanded again, his wonderment not in the least restrained. The others looked from the billionaire to the master sergeant, waiting on the answer.

"Oh, you'll see. This is just part one of the night," he told them all, making Steve swallow nervously. Part one? How long did they intend to make this night? What did Sam have up his sleeve?

"Oh, Lord," Rhodey murmured, taking another long sip of his scotch. Sam snickered at that, following suit.

"Don't worry, part two is going to be pretty tame in comparison, but this won't be so bad, I think."

Approximately fifteen minutes later, they were deposited down the block from their destination, pouring out onto the teeming sidewalks of Manhattan. Weaving through the people, they narrowly avoided any collisions as they followed Sam's brisk pace. Soon enough, they were coming to a halt in front of a wide-set building, lights flashing onto the street. Stark raised an eyebrow, looking at Sam as though he'd lost his mind.

"Laser tag? Really? What, are we ten?" scoffed the billionaire as he tilted his head back to look up to the darkening sky. Aaron's apparent excitement was not dampened in the least by Tony's proclamation; rather, he pumped a fist in the air and grinned widely at Pietro, whose face was cross between confused and intrigued. Steve brow furrowed, shooting looks between the two but keeping his questions to himself for the time being.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Did they even have laser tag when you were ten, Tony?"

"Well...no, but my point still stands," Stark countered, coloring a little. Gesturing to a good majority of the men, he pointed out, "We've all seen real combat before. Why would we want—"

"Scared to lose to a bunch of people who actually have the training to hit a target without a guiding system?" snarked the master sergeant, a low chorus of "oohs" following his challenge (some of them from passersby). Behind Stark, he caught the smirk Rhodey swiftly smothered, his hands going into the pockets of his leather jacket and his eyes diverted to the ground. The two civilians of the group, Hank and Aaron, said nothing, but the glance they shared spoke volumes. Tony's eyes narrowed at the implications, and a finger jabbed in Sam's direction.

"Oh, you're on, Bird Brain," he snapped, shoes ringing against the pavement as he strode past him, up to the double doors of the place and practically throwing them open to go in. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, a look of smug satisfaction on his face, while the others either sported looks of incredulity or resignation (depending on the person).

"This is gonna be fun," Rhodey muttered aloud, casting a glance at Sam before following his friend through the double doors. The sergeant smiled as he made to follow the colonel, the others trickling after him. The dispute resolved (or at least put aside), Steve merely frowned, a curious look crossing his face.

"So, what exactly is laser tag?" he wondered, darting a glance at his soon-to-be brother-in-law. Hank just chuckled and gestured for him to go ahead. Aaron, sensing the real confusion in Steve's tone, took it upon himself to explain the game, its mechanics and its typical goals. Evidently, players were divided into teams, strapped into vests with sensors in them and given "guns" to shoot with. One would score points against another player when they were tagged, the sensors in the vest locking them up and making them unable to continue with the game for several seconds. Sometimes targets would be implanted in walls and obstacles to help with racking up points. As he concluded, the team with the most points by the end of the round was the winner. It was just another modern marvel that the captain had not yet experienced, and though it sounded a little juvenile, it had the potential to be entertaining, at least. It wasn't like he had to be serious all the time. This was a chance to have a good time, after everything that had gone before.

Maybe that was why Sam had chosen that as the first stop for the night.

Speculating on who they would end up playing against, Steve felt himself stop short upon hearing familiar voices in the lobby. Familiar female voices. As one, he and the others glanced over at the group of girls gathered by the far wall. A svelte redhead was in low-voiced conference with an auburn-haired girl, her wide green eyes widening as she spotted them over her compatriot's shoulder. Jerking her chin up, she caught the attention of the others nearby, a young woman with almond-shaped eyes and blue hair tied back holding back on a sudden upsurge of laughter. Two brunettes came from around the corner, on their way back from the bathrooms, one of them stopping in her tracks as she spied the new arrivals. Steve blinked.

"Holly?" he breathed, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. It was indeed his fiancee standing there, a white ball cap proclaiming her as the bride on her head and her dark eyes widening at the sight of them. Her companions, including her sister and rounded off by Wanda and Natasha (the former brought by the latter, as a way to get the girl ingratiated and attempting to build something of a rapport between her and the captain's wife), watched curiously as the men began to approach them. What were they doing here?

"Sarah," Holly said her friend's name, eyes cutting away and the blonde in question grinning widely as she came up behind her. For her part, Sarah just sidestepped her, going up to Sam and bumping her fist against his. "Sam?"

"It was easier to do this, given how you two are acquainted with a lot of the same people," Sarah explained. Truly, it was; she and Sam had been stuck trying to figure out what to do for their friends on such short notice, and in the end, they conferred over making the night a partially joint venture. "Don't worry, I've got something else on the docket for just the girls after this."

"Didn't say I was worried, I just wanted to understand the reasoning," Holly retorted, cupping the air with her hands and rejoining the group. The gals began to intermingle with the guys, Wanda going immediately to her brother and hugging him in hello. Kay Szymik threaded between people, quiet greetings on her tongue as she watched Sam cut his way through to the proprietor's desk. Hank and Heather were quick to discuss the state of their children, asking one another if their parents had checked in with them yet while they watched over the little ones (Heather's husband was unable to make it out, and their littlest boy had stayed with him). Striding toward her fiancé, Holly's hand slipped into his, squeezing it gently.

"This is...gonna be interesting," she intoned lightly, nodding to the assorted members of their parties. Following her gaze, he canted his head.

"Yep," he agreed, a half-grin on his lips and his fingers tugging playfully on the bill of her cap. Before she could retaliate, the slap of clapping hands caught their attention, the milling the room dying down. Sam and Sarah stood in front of them all, the first ones kitted out in the gear the rest of them would get for the game.

"Welcome to the opening event of the Night Before...laser tag," Sam announced, a couple whoops echoing after that. "Bride's team versus groom's team, winners take all."

"All of what?" Kay asked, gaze flicking between the best man and maid of honor.

Sarah smiled and shrugged. "The pride, the glory...the ability to say you wiped the floor with Captain America and his squad of super-dudes."

A few vocal objections from the group of males floated up at that, while the girls seemed to have gone quiet with consideration. Holly tilted her head, sizing up her fiancé and his friends for a moment.

"...I'll take it," she said eventually, nodding in brisk agreement with her own statement. Steve, for his part, snorted and shook his head.

"Love you, too, honey."

At that point, the proprietor did step forward, going over all the rules and regulations of the game, as well as of the space they would be playing in. When his speech was eventually finished, vests and guns were passed around. They did not all fit properly, but they would make due with what they had.

"I'm calling it right now: no enhanced abilities," Stark said, tipping his head towards the twins as they suited up. "You want to play, Maximoffs, you play by the rules."

Pietro groaned loudly at that, his eyes rolling. Gritting her teeth for a moment, Wanda squared her shoulders, darting a look to her brother before answering. They still were not on overly friendly terms with the billionaire, but they could at least tolerate the request he made.

"Fine."

With all the players ready, they were given the chance to enter the wide facility, vests lighting up as they went in. It was a veritable maze of walls and platforms, multicolored lights disorienting them in the filtered darkness. Any attempt to put a tactical plan into place would be futile, Steve noted, especially when his team darted off in different directions. Instead, he and Sam shared a look of commiseration and silently agreed to stick near each other. A siren sounded, indicating the start of the game, and right away, they broke into a run, dodging the shots fired at them.

Already having put some distance between himself and the front door, Tony was actively ducking as the lights began to change and the game began. However, it seemed that luck was not on his side that night. Attempting to do his best to keep up with Rhodey—timing his shots expertly before sliding under an opening in the platforms and losing him—Tony had fallen against a far platform, hit three times in as many minutes. With the vest vibrating against his chest, his dark eyes shot around the space, the sudden roll of a person near him making him yelp and jump back. Smirking, the redhead at his feet pointed her laser gun at him, trigger squeezed and reigniting the vibrations once again.

"Damn it all to hell," he groaned, tipping his head back against the wall behind him. "You're vicious, Romanoff."

Her blue eyes glittered in the low light as she mimed blowing smoke off her gun's barrel. "You say that like you don't know me at all, Tony."

He raised an eyebrow at her, his expression all but promising retribution. Swiftly she sprang away, getting a good head start in before he would choose to follow. Minutes passed, with the electronic pings and crashes of the weapons being registered, the clattering rattles of walled targets being hit mixing with the excited cries of the teams. Despite himself, he found himself hooting and grinning widely. It was pandemonium, madness...it was better than he thought it would be.

On the far side of the course, Steve and Sam were making a sweep down the center, watching the shifting shadows carefully. Their area had gotten far too quiet, and it disconcerted them. With a single nod, the captain shuffled sideways between two platforms, looking for a possible assailant hiding nearby. Sam move forward, still taking point and keeping an eye out for any assault that could come. He breathed in and out, the green and yellow of the lights interspersing with white pinpricks. Suddenly, his vest's speaker reacted violently, the sound of a direct hit pumping out of it and making it vibrate.

"What the...how did I get hit?" he grumbled, looking down at the offending article with distaste.

"Gotta be more aware of your surroundings, soldier," called the attacker, her voice trembling with laughter. Glancing behind him, in the flashing lights, Sam caught sight of her. It was that one girl from earlier, an agent friend of Holly's. Her blue hair was slipping from its bun, and her dark eyes sized him up. He blinked, a little taken aback by the woman's appearance and bold wink.

"How did I not see _you_?" he asked her, an outright giggle her only response before she disappeared around the corner. His vest, by that point, had stopped vibrating, allowing him to proceed with the game as before. After a moment, he shook his head, careening around the corner where she had gone in an effort to retaliate. He chased her for several minutes, barely managing to dodge the next few times she fired back at him. She was fast, he could admit that much, but she wasn't faster than him. Catching her before she could get around another corner, he boxed her in with his arms, her giggles petering off as he held his gun to her chest. A well-shaped eyebrow shot up, the strands of her hair falling into her gaze as she all but dared him to take his shot. Faltering, Sam sucked in a breath, watching her eyes widen at the prolonged silence between them and he continued to look at her. Soon enough, she ducked under his arm, away from him, a knowing glimmer in her black eyes and a grin upon her lips as she slipped into the shadows again. A tap on his shoulder jarred him, and before he could reflexively fire, Sam glimpsed Steve's hand waving for him to follow again.

While the object of the game was to target the opposing team's players, it could not be said that one or two of the individuals did not have personal targets of their own. In particular, the siblings of each outfit had made it their goal to take the other ones out. In the case of Wanda and Pietro, it was more of an even match, but Hank never stood a chance against his two sisters when they decided to team up. At one point, he was so desperate to escape them and save himself that he'd been wedged into a corner, firing at whoever approached regardless if they were on his team or not (it was how he'd gotten Aaron, who had just shot him back afterward). More shots fired, rang out, the space filled with shouts of victory and crows of defeat. And in a moment, it was all over; the lighting dimmed, the vests shutting down and the florescent beams from high above told them that it was time to exit the space.

Once the gear was removed and returned, the teams gathered near the leader board, the proprietor standing beneath it as it tallied up the scores. The chattering between the two parties picked up, both sides comparing notes about how they did against one another. Holly and Steve brought up the rear of the group, looking on as they mixed and mingled once again. Her brother and sister were just ahead of them, discussing the tactics they'd employed during the game. In the middle were Sam and Kay, significant glances thrown at one another. Picking up a microphone, he tapped at it once or twice to garner their full attention.

"Highest individual score goes to...Player Five," he announced, a whoop of support going up from the women. Natasha saluted them all with her fingers, claiming her triumph gladly.

"You're lucky Barton wasn't here for this, Nat," Tony muttered out the corner of his mouth, knowing just how many of the points she'd racked up had come from targeting him relentlessly.

"You're not bringing down my victory," she replied, cheerfulness in her tone for the first time in a long while. Noticing it, Stark did no more than lift a shoulder and smirk back at her, pleased to see her mood improve even the slightest bit.

"And highest overall score goes to..." the fellow drawled, stretching out the tension of the moment as the screen above him fluttered with more numbers. As the digits settled, he cried, "It's the groom's side, by a very narrow margin."

The margin was fairly narrow; all in all, the teams were actually well matched. And despite not being ten-year-olds, the guys cheered quite loudly at their victory, the groom a little less so as he watched his bride's expression change. Catching him staring out the corner of her eye, she flapped a hand in the air, brushing off the disappointment of losing; she prided herself on at least getting her brother a few times, and she did manage to clip her fiancé once as well. She chalked that up as a win in her book.

"Fair play, babe," she said after a couple seconds, stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. The chorus of mocking smacking kiss noises and low cheers made her question the age of the guests in that moment. Steve's cheeks were pink as she pulled away, his arm wrapping around her and pulling her close despite the teasing.

"Aw, you two are so sweet, I'm getting cavities," her brother crooned, rolling his eyes at both of them.

"Shut up, Hank," Heather said, socking him in the arm. His next words were cut off by the spluttered groan he gave at being punched, and in turn she merely smiled sweetly at him. "Act your age."

Night had fully fallen by the time the men and women exited the laser tag arena, the winning team sporting certificates (cheap, printed things, but they still were a symbol of achievement). Good-byes and well-wishes passed between them as they parted. The ladies had turned left out the door, cabs to be hailed to take them to their next venture, and the guys' limo had pulled up from around the block, ready to take them away. With the members of the opposite parties ringing around the bride and groom, focus upon them, they did not notice the stragglers falling behind. Kay, tucking back the hair that had fallen loose from her bun, had an expression of supreme pleasure on her face, pocketing a pen she'd nicked from the desk and sauntered after Holly and her group. The master sergeant trailed out behind her, his certificate turned over to reveal the tidy scrawl on the back. Carefully punching in the written number into his phone, he tucked both the device and paper into his pocket, smirking slyly to himself as he jogged to catch up with the others.

 **xXxXxXx**

Just as Sam had promised, the second half of the evening's activities was more low-key, but by no means was it unwelcome. While they were out, a crew had gone into the Tower (the Vision was there, tapped into the security systems and watching them with an eagle eye) to set up a proper card table on the guest floor. The normal sitting area designated for the guests of the Tower had been transformed, accommodating the table. Chips were perched in the carrier atop the green felt. Some tumblers had been arranged in the holders, the radio churning out contemporary jazz. Stogies were set at each place along the table, ready for the men to partake as they chose. Off to one side, a drink cart was deposited, erasing the need to go upstairs to pilfer from the bar. Upon their return, the fellows noted the change with satisfaction, and Steve obliged Sam in a celebratory fist bump as the others sat down in the rented leather chairs. The android was invited to partake, but he politely declined and left for the lower levels of the building, taking his security duties for the weekend rather seriously.

"Poker and whiskey," Rhodey said, warm approval in his tone. Picking up a cigar, he lit it with alacrity and settled back in his chair. "Now this is a good choice."

"Thank you," intoned the master sergeant humbly, grabbing the packet of cards and opening it. Swiftly he shuffled them, dealing them with ease for five-card draw. His phone buzzed in his pocket just as he shilled out the last cards to everyone, but he waited to look at it until after he anted up. "Let's get started."

A few hands were dealt, pots contributed to and won, each of them ribbing Steve in their turn about tying the knot (or the noose, as one of them so helpfully put it), him chuckling and taking the remarks in good stride. At one point, a window had to be opened to let the waft of cigar smoke out of the room, but more drinks and hands were played, and in general there was a good buzz of camaraderie had by them all.

"Anything else planned for tonight?" Tony asked when his turn to act as the dealer came. Dark eyes flicked up, the hooded gaze revealing nothing as he looked at Sam and slid the cards across the surface of the table. "Just curious."

The other man inclined his head, taking his phone out again as it buzzed. Answering the message, he barely glanced up at Stark when he answered. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know..." the billionaire trailed off, facetiously turning the thought over in his mind. "Maybe something of the scantily-clad, dancing girl variety? Lap or pole dancing being the captain's choice, of course; I'm good with either. "

It wasn't the first bachelor party that Tony had ever been to; it certainly wasn't the craziest one, that was for sure. Granted, there was little that could be done in the time-frame that the bride and groom had given their friends to work with (weekends away were out of the question), but in his experience, certain things generally happened at those sorts of shindigs. The fact that, so far, there was no hint of such a thing happening, had him puzzled. A couple of the guys perked up at the mention of such an occurrence, but it was the knowing glance shared between the captain and his best man that Stark was watching for.

"If you're that hard up, then A) you can head to the strip club on your own, and B) you really need to have a talk with your girlfriend," Sam responded lightly, a small wave of chuckles bouncing around the group.

"Is a fair question," Pietro piped up, coming to Tony's defense for the first time. When the genius chanced a glance at him, he shrugged, removing a single card from his hand for replacement. "I was curious, too. American movies about these things usually show that happening."

"This ain't exactly a movie, is it? Big difference between expectations and reality, kid," Sam cut in again, flicking his gaze up from the cards to Pietro momentarily. A shoulder lifted as he discarded two, replacing them with others from the deck and tapping the table twice in check. "Besides, the idea was vetoed from the beginning."

All eyes shot up from their cards, staring down the captain in question. He considered his hand for a few seconds, the color slowly flooding his face as he toyed with a card or two. Exchanging three for new ones, only when he had organized his hand did he look up. The expression on his face was unapologetic, his mouth set in a grim line as he examined his companions closely. At the opposite end of the table, Hank's eyes narrowed, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

"I don't know if I should like you more because of your loyalty, or be pissed because of the lack of hot girls coming around here," he pronounced carefully, leaning his elbows on the edge of the table. Hazel eyes met blue, unwavering even as an eyebrow raised in question. Subtly, the brunet man nodded to the blond, the smirk blooming fully as he took another look at his cards and the pot in the middle of the table.

"Whatever suits you best, Hank," Steve replied, a few huffs passing between the guys as he gestured for Aaron to take his turn. He'd made very few demands in regards to what he wanted to do that evening, but that was one of them. He had his reasons, and he would not be shamed for putting his foot down. He hunched his shoulders lightly as he noted the halfhearted glares shot in his direction and rolled his eyes. "Whine about it all you want, guys, it isn't going to change. Whatever you fellas want to do with your time after this is your own affair."

The tone brooked no argument, and after a moment, Stark merely canted his head to one side, letting it go. The subject had been brought up more to get a rise out of the captain, and once that had happened, it was time to move on to the next topic. Quiet descended upon them, the only sounds coming from the radio and the chink of the chips as they landed in the center of the table. That, and from Sam's phone buzzing once again, a look of humor and something deeper coming into his eyes as he read the message there.

"So strip club after, then?" the young Sokovian man interjected then, pushing some of his silvered hair out of his face. "In the interest of educating me on American expectations?"

The crack of Steve's hand slapping against his forehead mixed in with the chatter as it resumed. New plans formed, with some of the guys agreeing to take the older Maximoff and others crying off. Across the table, Stark smiled broadly, glad in both his victory there and in the hand that had led him to win the pot that round.

 **xXxXxXx**

Korea Town was bustling and thriving in the June night, a rich assortment of New Yorkers treading down its walkways. It was there that Sarah had found the perfect event for the second part of the bachelorette evening: a brand-new karaoke bar. A live DJ was spinning the hits in the corner, house music pumping out as the ladies of Holly's group entered, the full-length bar along the far wall already well into its service. They were directed to one of the private karaoke rooms, miniature spotlights swirling across the dark blue couches. One of the hosts went to work setting up the equipment for them to use, while the other took their drink orders, serving them all promptly. It took a few moments for everyone to ingest the liquid courage, but soon enough, Natasha was reaching for the microphone, thumbing through the library to find a song to sing.

One by one, they took their turns, Kay's garbled attempt at a K-Pop song—she thought she could make a decent go of it with what she'd learned from her mother, and she fared decently—was preceded by Wanda's clear soprano taking flight when she selected a Broadway tune. Holly, after downing a couple of vodka shots, accompanied her sister in a Spice Girls song, reveling in the music of her childhood and bopping along to the beat. Dutifully, she limited her intake of alcohol, as she didn't want to show up to her own wedding ceremony totally off her face, but in the meantime she was having fun. A few rounds of music went by, each ending with massive applause and many whoops from the fellow party-goers, they hit a lull in the festivities. Natasha, noting how her drink had run out yet again, made her way out of the room, Holly's friends from D.C. going to the bar with her. As the door swung shut, Sarah and Heather turned to her, giving her a look that made her nervously tug on the bill of her bride's cap.

"What's going on?" she wondered, dark eyes darting between them.

"We have a couple more gifts for you," Sarah said, reaching over the side of the couch and bringing up her purse. It was the bigger kind, the kind that one could carry sporting equipment in it as well as everything else she needed for the night. For the moment, it served its purpose in hiding the final presents, with her handing one bag off to Heather and the other remaining with her.

"What, the wedding shower wasn't enough?" Holly joked, taking another sip of her drink. Sarah's smile lessened, a shoulder lifting.

"You wouldn't have opened these then," she muttered. Across the room, Kay was shaking her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing at her outright and staring purposefully at the onscreen karaoke library. Her phone buzzed, her smile growing once again as she retrieved it and tapped out a message.

"Not in front of your mother," Wanda cut in quietly, giving her a look after gleaning through her powers what the others were on about. Nonplussed, Holly glanced around the room, the deadpan expressions making her feel as though she was missing something. Heather, for her part, rolled her eyes at her sister's temporary lapse.

"Holl."

"What?" she asked. Suddenly, a thought sparked across her brain, and she felt a massive blush stain her face as she realized what they were getting at. "Oh..."

"Yeah, 'oh,'" Heather laughed, pushing the gift bag into her lap. It was smaller than the one Sarah had, but they both insisted that the gifts went together. Choosing to paw through the bigger one first, Holly's gaze widened as she looked at the contents.

"You've got to be kidding me," she murmured, pushing back the tissue paper and snorting derisively. Peeking into the smaller bag, the flush came back again, stronger than before. Curiously, the other women in the room watched as she lifted out the contents, stifling chuckles (and in Wanda's case, fending off the emotional imprints regarding the young woman before her and her team leader as best she could). Red, white, and blue peeped above the edges of the paper before they were all dropped into the same bag. "Oh, you have to be kidding me right now."

"C'mon, you had to expect one themed present; look at who you're marrying, for God's sake," Heather remonstrated with her, looping her arm around her sister's shoulders and flicking a few fingers into the air. "Besides, it's just honeymoon wear. You won't be wearing it out in public."

Sarah merely sported a smarmy look, her arms crossing over her chest and her eyes reflecting nothing short of self-congratulations.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the bride-to-be mumbled, letting herself be passed from her sister to her best friend in tight hugs. She supposed that this was their way of making it somewhat like a traditional bachelorette party, since the normal fare of questionable cakes and straws were not to be had. Shaking her head, she looked to Kay as she pocketed her phone for the umpteenth time that night (she had a few queries to make in regards to that, but they could wait), ready to ask her what song she would be singing next. They had the room for two hours, and there was still twenty minutes left to kill in that time.

Some shouts and loud crashes suddenly echoed outside the door, the women within swiveling their heads towards it. Wanda got to her feet, a mite unsteadily, her palms splayed in preparation, Kay's joviality melting as her fists curled up. Holly swallowed against a dry throat, sharing a worried glance with her sister as Sarah's hand clenched tightly on her forearm. After a few seconds, the door swung open, Natasha patting her hair down as she strode in. Her clothes were slightly rumpled, but she looked no worse for the wear. The same could not be said for the string of guys who were laid out on the bar's floor, the patrons beyond looking on in horrified shock. The bartender was even frozen, his movements towards the phone clipped to the back wall paused as the Black Widow calmly exited the main room, rejoining the group of ladies she came with.

Noticing the ring of stunned expressions, she frowned, brushing a nonexistent wrinkle out of her blouse.

"Hey, the douche bag got handsy and didn't understand the word 'no,'" she explained, hooking a thumb back to a guy with a bloody nose and his body curling into the fetal position. "He had it coming. So did his friends."

After a beat or two of silence, Holly sighed wearily, grabbing the up the gift bag and pulling the cap lower on her face.

"Okay, I think it's time to go," she said carefully, a ring of nodding heads bobbing around her as she made to stand. A flurry of handbags and streaming hair cascaded through the bar, and soon enough the women were out on the street, beating a path away from the establishment and hoping to lock down the closest cab to take them all back to the hotel in Brooklyn.

 **xXxXxXx**

"Not going with them, Sam?" Steve asked, finally removing the ball cap and scratching at his scalp. The remaining time at the poker table was well-spent, with the victor overall being Rhodey. Sweeping up his winnings, which was a good chunk of change, he decided to go out with the younger guys bent on visiting the club, his intent being to keep an eye on them. Stark, for all his teasing, declined to go, saying that he had enough woman waiting for him upstairs, and so he would go to her, now that her flight had finally gotten in. The captain himself was looking forward to getting some sleep, even if he had to do so alone that night (he would be staying at the Tower until after the wedding, when he would join Holly at the hotel).

Wilson, with his arms stretching up briefly to work out the kinks, shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. Got something else lined up."

On his way out the door, Steve paused, looking back at him and raising an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Yet again, Sam's phone vibrated, and the secretive little smile he'd had on and off all night came to the fore. Steve eyed him curiously, the question on the tip of his tongue, but before he could say a word, his friend put away the device and squared his shoulders. Pocketing a set of keys and his wallet, Wilson moved with him to the door, abandoning the poker set-up until its removal the next day. Locking the quarters behind him, he tipped a salute at the captain, fingers tapping his temple before going into his pockets.

"Yep. See you in the morning, Cap," he called over his shoulder, proceeding to the elevator at the opposite end of the hall. Tipping his head to the side, Steve contemplated calling after him, perhaps attempting again to get a real answer out of him. After a second or two, he brushed it off. Going to the elevator bank on the other end, he felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket. Jumping slightly, he let out a breath as he dug it out. Swiping at the screen, a tired smile came to his lips as he greeted the caller.

"Hey, Holly. Everything okay?"

Having arrived safely back at the hotel, the bachelorette party had gone their separate ways, some to bed, some to check out a nearby bar, since the night was still young. For her part, Holly had gone back in with her sister, bidding her parents good night as she made her way back to her own room. From there, she had decided to call her fiancé, a little eager to fill him in on the details as she got ready for bed. Putting him on speakerphone, she went about getting things ready for the morning as he spoke, clothes set out and other bridal accouterments placed in wait. When he finished telling her about the poker tournament, she slid into her story with ease, his breaths and hums encouraging her to go on.

"...So we got out of there before the bouncer threw us out. Barely," she completed her tale eventually, sitting down on the bed to kick her jeans off. And it was barely; though the establishment would likely have been on their side, that would not have prevented them being forcibly removed from the premises. It was just better to get out on their own accord. On his end, Steve blew out a sharp breath, something of a groan following it.

"You know, I'm not really surprised. That Natasha laid the guy out, I mean," he murmured, making Holly giggle humorlessly.

"I wasn't really, either. The beer goggles must've been pretty thick for the dude not to notice that he was trying to grope the Black Widow."

Steve snorted outright. "I would say so."

"And you? Did anything crazy happen to you?" Holly asked after a moment's silence. A little spike of dread crept into her gut, which she knew was silly to have. Adopting a teasing tone, she inquired, "Did the boys get you a nice lap dance from a stripper?"

"N-no," Steve stammered, a little flummoxed. In her head, she could picture the pink tinge along his cheekbones as he protested, his hand carding through his hair. "There was no stripper. Really. I, I didn't...it wasn't...what I wanted. You know that."

That was true; like many other things with their whirlwind wedding plans, they had discussed what they had wanted out of their last nights of being single, and what requests they would make of their chosen companions. There was very little time in which to get things together, and they had to get it out of the way as soon as possible. Steve was not ignorant to the changes over the last several decades in regards to stag parties, and in fact, some things hadn't changed all that much. Before she'd even mentioned the idea of his friends possibly hiring a stripper, he'd outright shot the idea down. Though pleased by his decision (it made her feel better about requesting to not have one, either) she was a little taken aback by his intransigence.

"Yeah, I know. But, I mean, it's kinda a bachelor party staple. I, well—"

She bit her lip, cutting herself off. A thread of insecurity surged through her then; she knew what her fiancé had asked for, but would it have been followed to the letter? After all, it was typical for people to go all-out before their weddings, and maybe something last minute would have been sprung. She hated feeling that way; she trusted Steve, she trusted Sam, but a part of her couldn't help but wonder what if. As if sensing her thoughts, she heard his breathy groan and huff.

"I don't care if it's one or not," Steve told her, the irritation surfacing. Evidently, he'd been questioned about the choice more than once that night. "It's disrespectful, all around. And I...well, I have you." Another short breath, the lilt in his voice became stronger when he spoke again. "I want _you_ , not some random stranger."

Warmth flooded through her, and she leaned back into the pillows of the wide bed, she felt her lips pull into a grin. Her heart thumped as his words wrapped around her, the desire and honesty burrowing deep.

"Steve," she replied sweetly, eyes going half-lidded, words lost to her in that moment.

"Holly," he answered, the low rumble underneath the tone not unnoticed. Her breathy hum in response made him inhale sharply. Some seconds passed, a few beats of the heart, before she glimpsed the digital clock on the nightstand and sighed.

"I suppose I better let you go," she told him, not wanting to hang up in the slightest. Plucking at the sheet around her hips, she continued, "We've got a big day tomorrow, and Peter will be here early."

Strapped as they were for time, and trying to keep a budget, the pair eventually chose a young kid from one of the boros as their photographer. Some had scoffed at their choice, but when they saw his website gallery (built by himself, as he said under his about tab), and met with him in person, the evidence before them suggested the kid truly knew his way around the camera. That, and he would work for them at a non-exorbitant price. Steve understood how important it was for young artists to get any form of exposure, and at the same time not starve to death in the process, and he was willing to take a chance on the boy, pay him what he quoted them. The kid was so excited to be covering the wedding, agreeing to take on a few extra duties for the chance to be in close proximity to heroes for a day and promising not to let them down.

Steve murmured, "That poor kid, having to jump from Queens to Brooklyn to Manhattan and back just to take pictures."

Holly cupped a palm to the air, despite knowing he couldn't see it. "He's a teenager. Load him up with sugar and caffeine, and he'll be able to fly after awhile."

"But who's going to catch him when he crashes?"

"Given that you're the stronger of the two of us, dear..." was the easy retort. Another glance at the clock, and she groaned to herself. "Anyway, I've gotta go."

"Okay," he agreed reluctantly. Shifting came on his end, settling after a couple of seconds. "Good night, doll. Wish you were here."

A rueful grin came to her lips at that. He was the one who insisted on the plan of spending the night before the wedding apart; he only had himself to blame for missing her. Then again, she'd agreed to it, so what did that say about her? Tiredness crept in, and she could barely think about anything as it was.

"One more night, babe," she crooned softly, reaching over and turning off the lamp, swathing the room in darkness. "See you in the morning."

One more night, she thought to herself after the parting I-love-yous were exchanged, nestling further under her blankets and dropping her phone next to the clock. One more night, and then everything would change again. As thrilling as that was, as scary as it was, she was glad for it, and was able to sleep soon enough.

 **xXxXxXx**

Saturday the twentieth arrived, and all Natasha could think about was getting some coffee.

With the ceremony still not for quite some time, and given that she was not a member of the bridal party (which she was more than okay with), she could not fathom why she would willingly be waking so early. Granted, she had agreed to helping Holly with her makeup, but that wouldn't need to happen for hours yet. Shaking her head at the clock and cursing her training for making her an early riser, she rolled out of bed, meandering downstairs to see if the continental breakfast was laid out yet. Luckily, she was able to get first crack at the strong brew made by the staff, a bagel taken with her for her troubles.

Walking back to her room, she wished she could blame her groggy state on ingesting too much alcohol the previous night, but she knew for a fact that she had not had enough to get her to that point. A nice buzz, yes, but not stumbling down drunk. No, she blamed her early rising and lack of sleep on something else entirely. Approaching her door, she could hear shuffling coming from the next room over. Halting, she chose to rest against the doorjamb and wait, see who exactly it was that ended up keeping her up and shaking her awake at that hour. A couple of minutes passed before the door swept open, and Natasha barely managed to bite down a laugh as she watched Sam Wilson partially stumble out the door. Ducking his head back in for a moment, he did not see Natasha until he swung back around, adjusting the waistband of his jeans and fixing the skewed collar of his shirt. The thunderstruck expression that flashed across his face was worth waiting for, she decided.

"Well, well. Fancy seeing you here, Sam," the Black Widow purred, her bright eyes trailing over his form and a brow arching.

"I, uh...yeah," he said, scratching at the back of his neck. Flapping a hand at the door, he attempted to excuse himself. "Checked in early."

"Uh-huh," she responded, not fooled in the slightest. Looking down into her coffee cup, she swirled the liquid and murmured, "Just saying, I hope you used protection at some point last night."

His hands rose to scrub at his face, hiding the flush of embarrassment that shot through him.

"Oh, God…"

Natasha snorted, drinking some of the brew in hand. "Another call for deity. That's not new."

The rattle of the door handle made Sam bite off his retort, the girl dressed hastily in sweats and a t-shirt, a wad of dark cloth in her hand. Tucking back the stray strands of her bright blue hair, she looked up at him, a shy smile on her lips.

"Sam, before you…oh," she trailed off, catching the fast gesture of his eyes to the left and stopping herself midstream. Smoothing out her expression, she dipped her chin in greeting at the other woman. "Morning, Agent Romanoff."

"Szymik," the redhead replied, sipping benignly at her coffee and taking a bite of her bagel. For a few moments, she just stood there, snickering inwardly at the awkward discomfort in Sam's form and the mild irritation building in the fellow agent's black eyes. Shrugging her shoulders, she soon enough decided to quit stalling and leave them be. "Don't mind me, I was just going back in. Have a good morning."

Quickly, she slid her key card into the slot of her door, canting her head in farewell as the door unlocked and she disappeared behind the panels. For a moment, the pair left behind in her wake just stared after her, blinking and breathing rapidly in the space she'd left.

"I…had no idea her room was right next to mine," Kay mumbled apologetically. A part of her felt disgruntled at the knowledge; she had training as an agent, the ability to pick up on many little details that others seemed to miss. How did she overlook that one?

"Would that have stopped you, anyway?" Sam asked, the tone of his voice jovial but the wariness reflecting in his eyes. Looking up at him, Kay let a slow, lusty smile spread, sidling closer to him as she did so.

"...Nope." One hand rested on his arm, the other pressed the cloth she was holding into his grip. "Here, you might want these back."

Taking them, an end of the cloth drooped, revealing them for what they were: his boxers. Swallowing hard, he coughed a couple of times as he shifted his feet, glancing up at her. He could feel the burn in his face as he attempted to smirk, lifting a shoulder.

"And there went my excuse to come back," he jested weakly, inviting her to see the humor in it. Giggling, she reached up to pat his cheek, tilting her head to the right.

"Oh, I don't think you'll need the excuse, Wilson," she said airily, leaning up to press a peck against the corner of his mouth. He caught her as she pulled back, lips capturing hers eagerly. The response was immediate, with her mouth opening to him and letting him past as a moan bubbled up her throat. The pull of the attraction between them tugged harder, much as it had the night before. Having seen him around the base on occasion over the last couple of weeks, Kay had thought the winged Avenger was quite handsome, and wouldn't have objected to having a crack at him (a sentiment shared by more than a few of her coworkers, she'd found out). So when she was given the chance, she took it. Flirty texts evolved into an offer, one she was happy to make and he was pleased to receive. The fact that he had his own brand of charm and humorous sweetness added to the allure.

When he eventually broke away, the broadness of his smile lightened something inside her, made her return it. Oh yeah, he definitely did not need to have a prompt to see her again; she would gladly welcome Sam Wilson at any time. For now, though, he needed to go. There was a wedding to attend, and it wouldn't do for the best man to show up looking scruffy and unprepared.

"See you later?" Kay asked, leaning back against her door, her hand still on his arm. Glancing down at it, he raised his to pat it, the grin never wavering even as he stepped away.

"Definitely," he promised, heading away with a spring in his step and, she swore to God, whistling, tucking his underwear into one pocket and making her chuckle as he went. Shaking her head as he disappeared from sight, she craned her neck back, looking at the ceiling for a few moments, lost in thought.

"Wedding," she reminded herself abruptly, wrenching on the door handle and heading inside, determined to grab a couple hours' sleep before she had to start getting ready herself.

* * *

 **A/N:** Bachelor(ette) parties abound. And yeah, I had them do something silly like laser tag, because for goodness' sake, they can't be serious all the time, and why not do something ridiculous like that after the crazy events of the last few weeks? They do more adult-like things afterward. And I honestly do not see Steve as the kind of guy who would want strippers at his bachelor party. He strikes me very much as a, "I've already got a girl, why would I need another?" kind of guy (if he gets one, I mean).

But obviously that doesn't mean I didn't intend for at least one of them to get involved in shenanigans. You go, Sam and Kay, you go. :)

It's been awhile since I've played laser tag, but I do remember the rules being pretty much exactly like the ones I mentioned for the place I went to, so I just drew on memory for that one.

The proper wedding chapter is being worked on right this very moment; I intend to get it posted in the next couple of days, barring any mishaps along the way. So double update week this week, when it does happen. Nearly there, folks!

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor any other pop culture references made. The karaoke bar is based off of MK Karaoke in Korea Town, in New York. Again, I've seen pictures, and would love to go if I'm ever given the chance!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one. It's on the way, I promise!


	34. Chapter 34

When asked later about the wedding day, Holly could not say that she remembered it all in perfect detail. Waking that morning with a combination of nervousness and excitement in the pit of her stomach, she went through the motions of her ablutions, mind far away as she considered everything that was to happen. She wouldn't say she was sleep-walking through her morning, but it felt more like an out-of-body experience, watching herself being pushed and pulled one way or another, across her room to drape the dress over a chair, setting up a place for Natasha to work on her makeup with her, to going out to the car with a massive travel mug of coffee to get her hair done at a salon, her mother, sister, niece, and best friend accompanying her. Peter, as promised, had arrived early, dressed neatly and camera at the ready. His uncle, he explained, would be helping him set up equipment when it was time (the older fellow was only seen at a distance, but he waved happily when Peter pointed him out, hooking a thumbs-up at both of them), but for now he was free to follow along at her wish. Some moments, like that, stuck out in her mind long after the day had passed, committed to memory.

Another few happened while she was getting ready. She stared impassively into the mirror as her hair was tugged, brushed, and maneuvered one way or another, small talk eluding her as she thought, over and over, that she was getting married. Married to Steve. Married to Steven Rogers, Captain America. The camera clicked quietly in the background, lost in the chatter and unheard by her as she kept considering the significance of the day.

Her hands gripped the arms of the chair that she was in tightly, in an attempt to quell the shaking. Her heart thumped loudly in her ear as the final touches were put on, the low chignon she'd chosen settling as her mother handed the stylist the combs to place along it. Glancing up, she saw the tears in Lisa's eyes, how she swiped at them discreetly when she thought her daughter wasn't looking. Holly had to drag her eyes downward, focus on her lap, or she was going to start crying, too. Her resolve nearly broke when the work was finished, and she felt her mom's arms wrap around her shoulders from behind, her face next to hers as she hugged her, the strands left out of her updo brushing her skin.

"My gorgeous baby girl," she whispered then, and suddenly Holly was very grateful that Nat would be doing her makeup later, as she let a couple drops free. After a few moments, she let out a gasping chuckle, waving off her rising emotions as a tissue dabbed at her face, Lisa giggling along with her. They had subsided briefly, and she did not doubt they would rise again, but for the moment she felt she would be alright. Heather, from her chair down the way, shot her a sideways look, chin barely dipping as she smiled wanly at her. She understood; it was only five years ago that she'd been in the same position, and she recalled very clearly the rise and fall of every moment.

"You okay, Auntie Holly?" Jodie asked her, her niece bounding over to her when her turn in the chair was finished, strawberry blonde curls bouncing as she went. Her little face was screwed up in concern, and hastily Holly nodded her head, taking her small hands in her grasp.

"Yeah, kiddo, I am."

Jodie, glancing away briefly, tilted her head to the side. "You sure? Nana said you'd be excited, but you were crying."

Holly couldn't help but let out a breathy laugh at her own emotional state, and how noticeable it was, even to the seven, nearly eight-year-old.

"Oh, I am, honey," she attempted to reassure her again, squeezing her fingers gently. "It's just...a different kind of excitement."

Jodie waited for a further explanation, but there was nothing her aunt could tell her to make her understand. Shrugging her shoulders, the other woman chuckled a little when the girl rolled her eyes and huffed. Shaking her head, another query came to mind.

"Is Ste...erm, Uncle Steve excited, too?" she wondered, thinking this was a question her aunt would be able to answer. Holly blinked, another surge of warmth pouring through her then. Jodie already referencing the bond Steve would now share with the rest of the family was sweet, and great. Given how her parents had reacted to what they'd told them about the events in May and her level of involvement, as well as the accelerated time-line for the wedding itself, the family could've resented him for involving her, could've passed that resentment on to the younger set. And while she knew for a fact that her family was still nowhere near okay with what she had done (and she had emphasized that it had been her choices that led her from the beginning, not Steve's; in fact, he was more on their side in regards to keeping her out of harm's way), they still accepted him. They had made room for the children to accept him, and acknowledge him for what he would be.

Smiling gently, Holly reached out, patting the little girl's curls tenderly. "Yeah, he is."

Satisfied with that answer, Jodie replied, "Good. Daddy said there would be a party after we're done at the church. Parties are fun; he should like that."

A sigh came out of the older woman, and her grin remained wide. "It will be fun, kiddo, I promise."

The ride back to the hotel was a blur, although she did recall her phone vibrating on and off during the car ride; inevitably, Heather reminded her, someone would want to get in touch with her about where to go for the ceremony. Passing the device and a list of the service companies she'd gotten in contact with to her mother (so she liked being organized, so what?), Holly and her bridal party separated to get changed and ready. Upon entering the suite she was staying in, she found Natasha waiting there, perfectly coiffed and attired as always, makeup brushes in hand and an almost feral smile on her lips. Behind her, Peter gawked, stunned by the redhead's beauty and tenacity for a few minutes before forcibly jerking himself back into reality, snapping pictures and consulting the little list he kept in his pocket. He took photos of the accouterments that Natasha dipped in and out of, of the process of applying eyeliner, of the dress nearby. At some point, he may have disappeared to take some shots of Sarah and her sister, but she couldn't check for sure. Nat had forbidden her to move until everything was applied and ready. Once the last touch was done, she remembered thinking that she was definitely going to owe Natasha baked goods on top of the cash she insisted she give her (she did not brook a refusal, and she made the woman actively walk away with the money in hand after hugging her in thanks).

Lisa, removing the small bag of necessities, helped Holly into her dress and passed off her somethings as they went down the list. The old was a necklace her grandmother had left her, the new a set of earrings that closely matched it. Her sister's borrowed bracelet was perched on her wrist, and, her face coloring a little as her mother handed it off to her, she slid the blue garter up her leg, its counterpart following swiftly on the other. Sarah and Heather flitted in and out of her vision, their purple dresses swishing around their knees as they darted from one end of the room to the other, gathering up the last of the things to go to the chapel and put them in the car her parents had rented for the trip, with Jodie and her little nephew Cole drafted into the endeavor. Fiddling with her bouquet, she tried to calm her breathing, slowing it and closing her eyes momentarily.

"If you could hold that for a sec, please?" Peter asked politely, her eyes flying open as he knelt near her, aiming the lens at her carefully. Swallowing, she held herself in her pose, at the edge of her seat and head tipped up slightly.

"Okay, Peter." A few shutter clicks, and then she wondered, "Was that good?"

The teenager nodded, his brown hair flopping a little out of the comb-over he'd forced it into. "Yeah, I took a few for safety's sake. I'm much better at action shots, but, well..."

"Hey, now," she cut in, shaking her head at him. "Your stills are nothing to sneeze at, either; you have talent with a camera."

He smiled shyly, fingers toying with the strap of the camera around his neck.

"Good thing, too; gotta get the money for college somehow," he remarked ruefully. Holly could understand that all too well. It was the major reason why she put up with her waitressing gig in high school. If she hadn't wanted to continue her education, and not ease up the loan debt she would have, then she definitely wouldn't have put up with it (good thing her dad never let her quit, either). Peter was getting a head-start, which was not a bad thing, but he had just started high school that year. Holly barely suppressed a wince, following the implications to a logical conclusion. Still, she chose to comment in a different way.

"Between that and amateur computer repair, I think you'll be golden," she told him, knowing he also advertised his abilities in that regard on a separate tab of his website, too. His smile became a little broader, and he lifted the camera again, finger hovering over the button.

"Keeping my fingers crossed."

Before she knew it, it had slid into the afternoon, and the time of the ceremony approached ever-faster. Speedily, Holly and her party were whisked to the chapel at Fort Hamilton, the brick facade shaded by the nearby trees, a slight breeze wafting through the air. The white doors swung open as people bustled to and fro, the last of the saber guard arriving as she was escorted into the building. The chaplain greeted her kindly, the minister at his side and letting her know that Steve and his friends had already arrived. There was a bit of a snafu in regards to the live camera set-up, with Peter suddenly rushing by and into the chapel to take a crack at it, but it wasn't something that couldn't be figured out. If they had to, Steve could always give Tony a call, see if he could figure it out before everything went down. Herded into a downstairs room, Holly was trying to maintain her level of calm, listening as her mother spoke with one of the vendors on the list for her, responding whenever Jodie had another question or laughing whenever Sarah tried to keep her spirits buoyed. Seated on a table, she let her legs swing back and forth, adjusting her posture every now and again due to the constraints of her under-attire. It could have been worse, granted; if she gotten something with a corset or such, she would have hated herself for that choice. The minute ticked by, bringing her ever closer to the main event, and she shuffled nervously, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as she waited.

"Are you ready to do pre-ceremony shots?" Peter's voice floated through the door, his head poking around it after a couple seconds. He had just returned from fixing the feed and testing it for the soldiers who would be watching the ceremony outside, and he had already gone ahead to take photos of the groom's party. He gestured back towards the stairs, prepared to take her whenever she felt it was time to go.

"Yes," Holly answered, her tone firm as she stood. The teenage photographer went immediately, returning only a few short minutes later, nodding for her to come along. Back up the stairs she went, the nervous flutters in her stomach pressing harder with each step she climbed. The concept of seeing the bride before the wedding went against Steve's traditional sensibilities, but Holly had argued for it. In truth, she was going stir crazy, and was fairly certainly she would make herself sick if she had to wait to see him until the ceremony. She couldn't take that, and told him as much. Eventually, he agreed to the idea, and so he was waiting for her, outside. Peter rushed ahead, throwing the side door open and leading the way across the grass, past the soldiers milling and (no doubt) the security detail onsite. He led her towards the area which overlooked the bridge and the waters beyond, where the captain was standing, leaning against the trunk of a tree and his back facing her, determinedly not turning around before he was prompted to. Lining up his shot, the boy motioned for her to come forward, to go to her husband.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up her pace. That part, she knew she would never forget.

 **xXxXxXx**

Steve had been waiting patiently by the tree for a few minutes, sent on ahead by Peter and instructed to stay within sight of the bridge. Sighing, he leaned against the trunk, watching as cars motored by, the glare off the decorative cannons nearby and the water piercing his gaze. The low hum of activity behind him continued, as he knew it would, but around him, it was peaceful.

Inside, he was quaking. For quite some time, Steve Rogers had never thought that he'd actually make it to that point in his life; he had figured he would probably have died before getting the chance to marry, whether it was due to his own health issues or serving in the war. But when his alarm went off that morning, it truly hit him then: it was happening, that day...it was really, truly, happening. It left him in a sort of suspended state, as if he were both part of the action and outside it. Showering, suiting up, conferring with his best man and groomsman, it all seemed surreal. Surreal, and exciting, and beyond what he'd imagined.

Small wonder, then, that he felt so jittery and nervous as he got ready. Small wonder that he still felt that way, particularly as he could hear his bride treading quietly through the grass to him, the clicks of Peter's camera not distracting him in the least. Adjusting his tie, he let his palms slide down the sides of his jacket, his dress blues in pristine condition. Back when he had first woken up, a new set had been commissioned for him, in an effort to replace the ones that had been taken up by the historical society. He accepted them, but still chose to fight to get his originals back, along with other things that they had no right to keep. The new uniform was relegated to the back of the closet until an official event required it. Well, he certainly couldn't deny the official nature of this event.

At least the new one fit properly, he thought, glancing down at himself. At least the badges and stripes weren't worn down, and the collar devices were clean. The soft footfall told him she was closer, and he felt his nerves flare again. She was right there, behind him, and he had to force himself to stay still, stay where he was. A couple of sharp breaths went in and out, and he tried to relax his posture again.

Fingers curled around his bicep, gentle pressure applied to start him in his turn. Pivoting slowly on his heel, Steve's eyes swept away from the bridge, from beyond, and focused on the present, on the presence beside him. His gaze widened, his jaw going slack as he stared at Holly, his breath stuttering in his chest.

"Oh, my God..." he gasped, scanning her from head to toe. His hands hovered around her, as though he were worried that he would ruin the effect if he touched her. A little giggle escaped her then as he continued to look her over.

"I take it you like it?" she asked him, turning in a circle to show off her appearance in its entirety. The skirt of her white dress floated around her knees as she did so, the lacy white flowers embroidered up the bodice and away from the waist accented by the light. The thin, sheer material on her shoulders and arms softened them, flowers dotting across it here and there. Crystal combs in her hair and holding the small veil in the back glittered in the sun, and so did the drops in her ears. When she finished turning, he found the gumption to come closer, to step into the light shining around her and cup her face, his heart thudding hard in his chest as he leaned his forehead against hers.

"You're so beautiful," Steve whispered, his smile growing with every passing second. And she was, from top to bottom. Always had been, in his eyes, but it was more obvious then. The urge to kiss her came over him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, couldn't bring himself to mar the piece of work before him. The grin on her lips stretched, her own gaze wandering over him as she drew back.

"My handsome man," she murmured, the hand not holding her bouquet sliding over his jacket, tapping his nameplate and the silver bars marking his rank. Tenderly, she brushed at his hair, the strands dark gold in the sunlight. Just as handsome, just as good as the first time they'd spoken (more so, given how he was uninjured at that moment). In spite of her joyful expression, beads of tears began to pool in her eyes, and hastily he reached up, swiping them away when one or two fell.

"Don't cry, doll," he said, wondering what was the matter and what he could do to stop the tears from flowing. Still, she went on smiling, a gasping laugh bubbling up.

"I'm not; I'm just...overflowing with happiness," she contradicted him, sniffing deeply and pretending she had not shed a single tear. Linking his arms behind her and holding her to him, he blinked at the sky above, a chuckle coming out of him.

"Well, that's one way to put it," he retorted, planting a kiss delicately in her hair. The tightness in his stomach had lessened, he felt calmer; she was right about needing to seeing each other before the ceremony. It was better, now, and more real than before. All the while, the snap of Peter's camera went on, the moment captured multiple times from several different angles. Idly, he thought that he definitely would want prints of that moment. Soon enough, the kid had asked if they were ready to bring in the rest of the family and bridal party for pictures, and they gave him permission to fetch them from the chapel. Nodding enthusiastically, the teen took off, almost tripping over his feet to do as they asked.

"While he's gone..." Holly trailed off, making Steve glance at her and raise an eyebrow. Clearing her throat, she screwed up her brow in concentration for a second or two, the 'thinking line' in her forehead appearing and scrunching back the scar that was somewhat hidden beneath the makeup. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaning up to get closer to his ear. Bending a little, he listened as she haltingly quoted, "'You for me, and I for thee, and never another. Your face turned to mine and away from all others.'"

When she finished, Steve pulled back, surprise gracing his features. He knew those words, recognized them. She shrugged a shoulder, the hand holding the bouquet clutching it a little tighter.

"I read about it on an Irish wedding blessings page awhile ago, thought it would be a nice—"

That time, he could not stop himself, his mouth coming down onto hers and stemming her speech.

"More than nice, _a_ _chroí,_ _"_ he muttered against her lips when they broke off the kiss, touched as he was by her thoughtfulness. His broad smile remained even as she rubbed her thumb along his lips, laughing as she tried to remove the shade of red she'd left behind.

 **xXxXxXx**

Bells chimed the five o'clock hour, and the time had come for the ceremony to start. Outside the chapel, the officers and soldiers not on duty were perched in their own chairs, watching the screen that had been erected, ears bent towards the speakers mounted nearby. As per the plan, Steve and the minister were already at the front of the church, waiting on the others to come in. The guests gathered inside were speaking in low tones, but that changed the moment the music shifted. The unspoken cue caused a sort of hush to fall upon the crowd, and the doors swinging open drew all their attention. Though the gathering was small, very small by some standards, the idea of walking down the center of an aisle, all focus upon you, could be daunting. At the back of the line, Holly could watch as everyone moved out ahead of her, throat going dry and palms beginning to sweat as she knew how close she was to the moment of truth. Beside her, her father Paul stood still, his hands tucked into the pockets of his suit and eyes focusing on the toe of his shoe. For a long moment, she said nothing, let the processional music play softly and fill the space between them. After her mom went down the aisle first, and Sarah looked back and gave her one last wink of reassurance, she glanced up at him, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow and squeezing gently.

"Hey, Dad," she whispered, grinning when he finally looked at her. He returned it, his brown eyes going misty the longer he did so.

"Well, well, Holly Jean," he started, a catch in his throat stalling him. Twice he cleared it, and on the second time, Holly shook her head.

"Oh, dear. You didn't get it all out of your system when Heather got married?" she joked weakly, making something glimmer in his eyes.

"Of course not," Paul replied, tipping his chin up. "I saved some just for you, little girl."

Holly glanced away, her face heating up as she watched her sister and brother go up, Sam and Sarah arm in arm behind them.

"Haven't been little for awhile," she mumbled, the sentiment in his tone hitting her harder than she thought it could.

"Doesn't matter," he told her, his larger hand coming up to cover hers. "You're still my girl, big or small."

Now it was her turn to have a hard time swallowing, for him to pat her gently and let her know everything was going to be alright. So many memories of her father playing with her, showing her his building plans, being the unobtrusive presence in her life no matter where she was or what she was doing, came roaring to the fore. She coughed once, bringing up her bouquet to hide it as Jodie went next with Cole, her fingers gripping his little vest tightly as he swung around the pillow with the decoy rings, some fake flower petals spilling out of her basket as they half-toddled, half-jogged forward. Turning to look at her father again, she saw the well of emotion rise in him, too, and knew he was thinking the same as she did.

The music shifted again when the kids had made their way to the front, seated beside their grandmother on the front pew. Taking the cue, the guests moved in almost perfect synchronization to stand, pivoting to face the doorway. Oh, that was intimidating.

"No turning back now," Paul muttered out the side of his mouth. Holly's grasp shifted on his arm, her head coming up almost in challenge—even if her legs were shaking as everyone stared at them.

"Absolutely not," she responded, her father leading on the right foot. Up the aisle they went, Paul's hand resting on hers, the calloused touch firm and reassuring as the pair of them made their way towards the front. Past the pews, the ends knotted with purple and white posies, past the friends and colleagues gathered (later on, she would tease Tony by saying she'd caught him wiping a tear away, which he scoffed at outright), to the front. Up to where her sister and her best friend stood, lovely in purple, where Sam posed in his own military uniform, her brother smirking at her in his suit and winking at her. To Steve, whose warmth and adoration never wavered once as she drew closer.

Just as at the rehearsal, Holly stood patiently as the minister began his opening speech, welcoming the congregation and entreating them to join in celebrating the union between the two people before them. After remarking upon the act of marriage being a representation of the union between Jesus Christ and the Church (with Holly capitalizing the word in her head for significance), he looked out, asking if there was an objection to the union going ahead. A bland four seconds passed in which nobody even moved; after all, who was going to tell Captain America he couldn't marry whomever he wanted? Or better yet, who in her family and friends would think it wise to tell her to run the other direction? Smothering a snicker, her eyes flicked to the blue ones still watching her, noting the flash of humor in them as well. Satisfied with the lack of response, the minister went forward.

"Who is it that brings this woman to this man?" he asked, hands folding over one another and his bright gaze falling onto Paul. Clearing his throat once more, her dad took a step forward, bringing her with him.

"I do," he pronounced, loud enough to be heard by everyone. Squeezing her fingers one last time, he inclined his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek before putting her hand into Steve's outstretched one. Holly almost thought she could hear the soldiers outside cooing at that, but did not remark upon it. As Paul made his way to sit next to his wife and grandchildren, he nodded once to Steve, a smirk identical to Hank's on his lips.

Taking the opportunity to continue, the minister spoke to them once more, his voice clear and solid in the space of the chapel. Holly listened with half an ear, her concentration going towards breathing as deeply and steadily as she could, her quaking hand entwined with Steve's and feeling his nerves shake him, as well. The minister announced how the day was a blessing, that joy and peace between them would be found in the love in their hearts, unconditional and freely given as it was given by God.

The older fellow smiled on both man and woman, gesturing to them with open palms. "Would you please face each other and join hands?"

Handing off her bouquet to Sarah, Holly's other hand slid into Steve's, the heat of them washing over her. Dark brown eyes connected with blue, and were lost in one another as the officiant went on.

"Steven, do you take Holly to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only to her forevermore?"

"I do," Steve said, his voice strong no matter how much his hands trembled. He grinned widely at her, and she could not help but to do the same.

"Holly, do you take Steven to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only to him forevermore?" the minister repeated for her, and she felt herself nod before she answered.

"I do."

The reading that followed, as done by Heather, was well-delivered, her teacher's voice carrying out the passage from Ecclesiastes sweetly. Once again, the vows were repeated, just as heartfelt as they had been before. Some would later mock Holly for not writing her own vows, but she just ignored them. With so much else going on, with so much else to do in that short amount of time, she had no problem speaking words that thousands of other couples had done, as her own parents had done, for their weddings. She still meant what she said, no matter that someone else had written them. She would take Steve as her husband, with all the good and the bad, and she would love and cherish him throughout it all. And he would do the same for her. The rings were exchanged, retrieved from the jewelers at almost the last minute. A simple gold band that dipped to a point was Holly's, meant to act as a complement to the claddagh that was her engagement ring, a small diamond sitting near the point. Steve's, though, was gorgeous, in her mind: gold tungsten, Celtic knots engraved into it. Long lasting, and appealing to his artistic side. As she slid it onto his ring finger, she had a flutter of dread, hoping that it would still fit properly, which it thankfully did.

A second reading from Corinthians was given by Sam, his additional duty met well even as his tired eyes blinked rapidly. Once he moved away from the stand he was positioned at, back to Steve's side, he flicked a couple fingers at the minister to go on with his charge. To the couple, the officiant bade them to love one another for who they were, to cherish their individuality as well as who they were together. He wanted them to continue to respect and care for one another, to share and be one another's home. On the word "home," Holly felt Steve's grip on her hand increase in pressure, caught his sideways glance in hers. That, she would have no trouble doing. Home, she had found, was wherever he was.

"Steven and Holly, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in matrimony, have promised your love for each other by these vows, the giving of these rings and the joining of your hands, I now declare you to be husband and wife," the minister finally proclaimed, spreading his hands out and intoning the benediction. A sense of relief started to spread through Holly as she looked upon the man at her side, now her husband. To the gathered indoor congregation, and to the camera projecting the events outside for the soldiers, he boomed out, "I present to you Captain and Mrs. Rogers."

The applause inside was almost nothing compared to the happy roar just beyond the brick walls of the chapel, Holly jumping a little at the sound and laughing at her own surprise, Steve chuckling with her and steadying her a little. Kindly, the minister looked on them, inclining his head towards the captain, eyes creasing at the corners with delight.

"You may now kiss your bride," he prompted him. Hot on the heels of the relief came the surge of joy, and Steve automatically nodded at that, looking at his wife in anticipation. Her bouquet dropped from her grasp, her fingers curling around the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down to her. From somewhere towards the back she heard someone cry for her to go get it—it was Maria Hill, as it turned out—laughter rippling through the attendants when they heard it. The cheers around them got louder as they kissed, and she found herself being lifted off her feet, Steve's strong arms winding around her. He embraced her once the kiss ended, and she felt more tears sting her eyelids as she hugged him back.

There was still the saber guard to go under, the crowd outside to appease, the reception line to deal with, and so many other things, but at that very second of time, it could wait. It could wait while she held her husband, while he cradled her against him, a very real sense of peace and happiness rushing between them, the love they shared flying fast and hard.

For that moment, it was enough.

 **xXxXxXx**

Wanda cast her gaze around the community club hall, searching amidst the chatter and noise for something. Or, she supposed, technically someone. With the wedding ceremony over and with everyone adjourning to dinner, she did not have the time to look out for the missing member of the party. Indeed, she had not seen him since she and her brother had arrived at the chapel, when he was standing beyond the fringes of the property, electric blue eyes performing a sweep of the grounds. It seemed peculiar, not having him inside with the rest of them. Pietro had not commented upon it; rather, he continued to eat his dinner, speaking rapidly with Nick Fury about the progress of the new base in England. Quietly, she excused herself, laying a hand on her brother's arm and telling him she was stepping outside for some air. Weaving her way between the tables, the silver and purple sashes on the chair brushing her as she went, she flicked her eyes around once more, in case she was incorrect. Bridal party at the top table, invited officers and soldiers seated according to rank on one side, civilians on the other...no, she was not wrong.

Going out through the entry, she lightly tripped down the steps, the early evening breeze stirring her dress as she made her way down. The maroon coloring of it had darkened in the lowering light, swishing about her legs as she moved. Carefully, she turned her head one way, then the other, reaching out through her powers to sense him. Crossing the paved road, she paused a moment before moving around to the other side of a big tree, finding him standing there, poised with a hand on the bark. The Vision spared her a look, tipping his chin once in greeting but otherwise remaining at attention. As with the last few days, he had taken the role that Captain Rogers had charged him with very seriously. Then again, the Vision was a very serious creature, anyway. For a minute or two, Wanda stood beside him, the distant purr of vehicles going by mixing with the earth preparing to rest for the night.

When she had come to America, Wanda was not sure what to expect. Upheaval, change, the inevitable sense that she did not belong, those were the first things that came to mind. And while some of those ideas had come true to a degree, she had found that her perceptions were not accurate. She had a great deal to learn, still, in many senses. Much like the creature next to her.

"How is everything going?" she asked him eventually, tugging at the end of her braid. He glance back at her, shoulders shifting beneath the golden cape perched there.

"Very well, Ms. Maximoff. Thus far, I've only had to deter a few inebriated privates from attempting to get a closer look. I sense no immediate danger in the premises," he told her, sounding as if he were compiling a report to give to the captain later. Perhaps he was, in a way. Snickering silently, she shook her head, taking a step closer to him.

"You know you can call me Wanda, if you want," she reminded him. He had more than earned the right to do so. They were teammates, after all, and more to the point, he had saved her life. There was no need to stand on ceremony at that point. Still, the creature was unfailingly polite, a habit ingrained into the protocols set forth by Tony Stark. He had yet to break them. His mouth twitched at the corners, a close approximation of a grin.

"Wanda," he corrected himself, nodding once more to her. When she did not turn to go, he looked at her curiously, the click and whir of his thoughts nearly audible. "Is there something you need?"

"I was just curious if you wanted to come in. You are a guest, too," Wanda pointed out. She knew for a fact that while Rogers had asked the Vision to watch out over the ceremony and the people involved that weekend, he did not mean for him to separate himself from the rest of them. He was as welcome as any of them, perhaps more so, given that he thus far had proven to be a trustworthy ally and teammate. The Vision had more right to be there than Wanda did, probably, or even Pietro, but she would not voice those thoughts aloud. Instead, she watched as his electric blue eyes dropped to the ground as he considered the notion.

"Perhaps. After everyone has finished eating," he stipulated. Catching her incredulous glance, he gave a facsimile of a wry smile and waved a hand through the air. "I have found that some people think my observations of human life, particularly when they're consuming food, are off-putting."

Well, she was unable to deny that. The Vision had a propensity to ask and ponder some very outlandish questions at times, things that were taken for granted and not mentioned by the human adult populace in company. She'd seen the aftermath of such things several times in the last couple of weeks at the base already. However, she did not blame him for making inquiries; after all, even with him tapped into the most advanced technological systems known to man, that did not mean the Vision had all the answers, knew all the protocols.

"Well, I don't. I know you're just trying to understand it all," she said, tucking a loose strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, hunching her shoulders a little. Canting her head to one side, she sighed. "But if you would rather stay out here for now, then that's fine. You come in later, if there's no trouble."

The tone in her voice suggested she would expect him to follow through with her command, though he did know it was a request. The Vision conferred inwardly, wondering if he really should go in, and 'mingle', as was said. As an android, he was set on a different plane than the others within the club's walls. Not that the Avengers had made him feel that way; he was treated like any other person fighting for the good of the world, thus far. Though he knew it to be naïve to expect the rest of the world to treat him as such, he could expect perhaps something better inside than to be left standing all by himself in the dusk.

"Very well, Miss—Wanda," he conceded after another few seconds, catching himself on the last word. Her smile grew a little wider at that, and he found himself returning the expression. Her head bobbed up and down, hands going to her hips.

"Okay. That's when the fun will start, anyway. Dancing is the best part of a wedding, you know," Wanda informed him, thinking back on the weddings of neighbors she had attended in her childhood. As different in observance as they were from this one, she knew that the aspect of celebration was not far off the mark. Flashing a mischievous glance at the Vision, she murmured, "I could teach you how to dance, too."

He blinked at that, a sardonic expression surfacing so quickly she barely had time to register it. "I do have unlimited access to a multitude of instructional files and pages on the art of dance."

Outwardly, she scoffed at that, flicking her fingers in the air. A light trail of scarlet mist cascaded around her hand, causing her to pull her fist back against her chest, a sheepish chortle coming out her mouth. Her eyes, though, looked more than uncertain. The Vision barely suppressed a frown; he did not like people to feel unsure around him. Certainly not her.

"Downloading information is not the same as doing it," she said, accent rolling around the syllables as she spoke. Imperiously, she raised her chin, sizing him up briefly. "I'll show you how to do it."

The electric blue pupils contracted slightly, taking in her faux haughty demeanor, her insistence. Slowly, he inclined his head at her.

"Practical application is...a good way to learn and adapt new skills."

The smirk she was sporting slid into something more genuine. "Good. Meet me inside later, then."

Pivoting sharply on her heel, she was making her way back across the pavement, a waggle of her fingers her farewell as she went back inside. The softest sigh came out of the android's mouth, his mounting confusion being forcibly pushed down.

"Yes, Wanda," he said quietly, observing her departure, ensuring that she was safely back inside before he turned back to his duties. For the time being; he was not about to risk the wrath of the newly-codenamed Scarlet Witch and ignore her request to dance. Perhaps she could teach him something, after all.

 **xXxXxXx**

Tony walked over to the bar area, set up in the corner. Though there was an opportunity to indulge in the free beer, he did not wish to stomach cheap brew that evening. Instead, he laid down the money for something a little stronger, tucking a few dollars in the tip jar for good measure. The burn coated his throat as he swallowed it down, resting against the bar and looking out over the room. Dinner was about what he expected; chicken or fish, pretty standard wedding fare, with him picking off of Pepper's plate whenever he thought she wasn't looking. When she caught him, she just rolled her eyes and grinned, snatching up a bite of his fish with aplomb. When he'd gone to get a drink, she asked him to get her one, as well. If he could remember to return with it that time, she'd added saucily, her wink softening the words. At that moment, she was speaking to the bride, who wasn't so much blushing as much as she was radiating with exuberance. She was giving Banner a run for his money in that department, he thought to himself sadly; could there ever be a happy Hulk? Maybe. He wouldn't know. The martini he had requested on Pepper's behalf was deposited by his elbow then, his money taken and the cue to head back to her clear. Returning to his seat, he barely had time to sit down before the woman in white hugged him while he sat, her thanking him for coming reverberating in his ear.

Weddings were such odd affairs to him, with so much rigor and structure and rules, compiled by the idea of legally binding oneself to just one other person for the rest of one's life. Or, at least, until after the ink dried on the certificate and one started filing for divorce a week later (funnily enough, that had happened with Jenkins in legal, about ten years ago). When he was younger, he could not fathom the idea. After all, he could end up with someone cold, calculating, nearly heartless, possibly for no better reason than for the fact that one of the party had gotten knocked up—birth control was a godsend, to be sure. Now that he was older, he was beginning to understand the appeal of it to others. The stability, the hope for the future and facing it with someone who loved and cared for you, no matter if you left the toilet seat up or if she covered the counter end to end with hair and makeup items. On some level, even, a part of him rather liked the idea. But...well, he was still content to be a guest at a wedding, and not the host. After that, he had no further answers to questions that were not asked yet.

Instead, he just slung an arm around his girlfriend's waist, let her strike up a conversation with their seated companions, with him interjecting offhandedly every now and again. Instead, he watched, and observed, his eyes drawn across the floor.

The DJ had arrived, and his set-up was nearly completed. Once the plates and glasses were cleared from the table, tapping came at the microphone, pulling focus to the other end of the room. It was time to get the actual party portion of the night started, the guy announced, pleased cheers echoing in response. The call came for the bride and groom to make their way over to the dance floor to begin the festivities, and he could not help but catch the flash of diffidence streaking across the captain's irises. His wife, though, merely smiled up at him, tugging his hand and pulling him to follow afterward and encouraging him silently. Scanning the room again, Tony noticed something else. The scrawny kid that had been hired as the photographer was nowhere to be found. Huffing, he set down his glass, taking it upon himself to look for the teenager and bring him back to his duties. Probably the kid was in some corner fiddling with Instagram or Snapchat or whatever, he groused in his mind. When he exited the main room, he did not find the young fellow there, and a puzzled expression bloomed on his face.

The rock-back clang came from the far end of the hall, a ladder still wobbling from being climbed on. A hatch in the ceiling was opened, a pair of skinny legs swathed in cheaply-made black pants sticking out. Little grunts of exertion trickled out as he approached, and when he peered up into the hatch, the legs had been drawn in, the boy folding them as he sat down and consulted the laptop he'd brought with him, eager eyes lit by the bright screen. His jacket, a dull, solid blue block, had been ditched some time ago, and his formal tie had been loosened.

"What are you doing, kid?" he asked the teenager, causing him to jump in shock. Jerking his head up, the boy's eyes widened when he recognized him. Bracing himself for an onslaught of praise and hero worship, Tony was a little taken aback when the kid merely smiled and shrugged.

"Getting a good angle, Mr. Stark," he told him, consulting the screen one more time and fetching up the camera beside him. "I want to do one better for the captain, see how creative I can get with some of the pics."

Setting the laptop down, the teen shuffled away, going deeper into the dark crawlspace. Curiosity fired through the billionaire, and within moments, he began clattering up the ladder, too, grumbling as he wedged himself up into the rafters.

"You're gonna snap your neck, is what you're gonna do," he called out into the darkness, one spot illuminated at the far end. The ceiling tile had been removed, propped beside the kid as he aimed the camera through the space. Crawling over to him (unsteadily, the creaks of the beams beneath him not reassuring in the least), Tony could see the impish grin on the kid's face, the knowing look in his eye. Clearly, he had done something similar before.

"Not likely. I got this." That said, the teenager hooked his legs securely around a beam, poking his head and camera out the open ceiling area. Warily moving closer, Stark stared down over the gathered guests, an angled view of Steve and Holly in their first dance meeting his eyes. Carefully, the kid—Peter, he was called—twisted this way and that, the snaps of the shutter drowned out a little by the music below. A few more clicks, and soon he was swinging back up again, a broad grin on his face. Shrugging his shoulders, Tony smirked and felt himself sag in relief when Peter replaced the tile. He would hate to have to tell the boy's uncle that he got hurt doing something incredibly stupid just to get a good shot.

Stupid...and innovative. Picking his way back towards the open hatch, he caught a glimpse of the laptop's open screen, and without any prompting, Stark scooped it up, clicking through a well-rendered floor plan.

"How did you get a layout of the clubhouse?" he wondered, tapping a few keys to zoom in a bit closer. As quickly as he dared, Peter shimmied over to him, trying to snatch the computer away. Nimbly, Tony shuffled backward, putting out a hand against the teen's chest and thwarting his attempts. In the hazy light, he could've sworn that the kid had turned red as a lobster.

"I didn't. I got in early, did a quick calculation of the dimensions of the space, figured out the angles from there," he told him, tugging at his sleeves' cuffs. His gaze dropped to his knees, his shoulders hunching slightly. "There was some time to kill in between setting up the cameras in the church and waiting for everyone to get here."

Raising an eyebrow, Tony paged through not only the impromptu floor plans, but also some of the private ones. The kid had a handle on computer building; his calculations were above and beyond that of an early teen. He seemed to have a few schematics to mechanical projects he was working on, something else to do in his spare time, he supposed. The laptop itself bore the hallmarks of home improvement, its operations running beyond the capabilities of that particular model. The kid was, undoubtedly, intelligent, if one looked past the awkward-as-all-get-out aura that hovered around him. Returning the floor plan to the front display, he smoothly handed it back to the boy, dipping his chin once. Sniffing, he lowered his legs out of the hatch, feet connected solidly to the metal rungs of the ladder below.

"Nice work, kid," his voice floated back up to Peter. Letting out an uneasy breath, Peter put his laptop back in its case, slinging it around him and securing his camera around his neck before following.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark."

The two made their way back into the main room, the kid dropping his stuff off at a table at one side, with his abandoned jacket. Going up to his uncle, who had been manning a camera on a stand, he had a hushed conversation, one that Tony did not intrude upon. The older man nodded at something the kid said, his graying hair drooping into his face as he clapped Peter on the shoulder. That done, the boy moved around to the other side of the dance floor, camera up and clicking away as the captain and his bride swayed. The kid was smart, had ingenuity...and he was hungry, eager. That struck a chord with the billionaire, made him consider something. Stark kept him in his sights, casually working his way back over to the kid after he had time to immerse himself again. Edging closer, the dulcet tones of the singer on the track slid over him, hiding his footfall as he came up on Peter's right.

"You might want to adjust the aperture," he intoned quietly. Peter jumped a little again, casting a questioning glance his way. When Stark said nothing more, he flapped a hand in the air, brushing the idea off.

"This one works better when the subjects are moving at a pace like they are." Parker paused in his work once the song finished, staring hard at the billionaire-superhero. What angle was the guy playing at? Granted, he was living out a fantasy of his: speaking with _the_ Tony Stark. It was all so surreal, and strange, but he felt there was more to what was going on, that he wasn't understanding something. His narrowed gaze met the older man's, and he waited.

Soon enough, Stark reached into his pocket, having decided upon something. Extracting his wallet, he removed a business card perched in there. Handing it off to the kid, he watched as the younger fellow's eyes widened, his deft fingers flipping it over to reveal numbers to his lab tech teams at the Tower.

"Here. In case you want to work on something else this summer," Tony murmured, hands going back into his pockets. "We might have a spot open for an intern."

For a long time, the kid could only stare down at the card in his hand. It was like a gift from God, a passport into the Promised Land, the offer. His tongue unglued from the roof of his mouth, and the young man had to swallow a few times before he could speak again.

"I, but I...I'm only fifteen," he said, the color draining from his face. It couldn't be real, it had to be a trick. But no, here it was, and here was Mr. Stark, looking at him with a mixture of understanding and satisfaction on his face. He could have bitten his tongue for making such a dumb remark, but the genius beside him merely canted his head.

"Doesn't matter. Just think about it," he told him, pivoting on his heel and walking away. "Later, Mr. Parker."

Weddings were odd, Tony mused privately as he moved towards Pepper, ready to guide her to the dance floor as the others were beginning to do. But sometimes...sometimes the most interesting things happened at them.

 **xXxXxXx**

"You okay?"

The question broke through the wall of pensiveness that had surrounded Steve. Turning his head, a corner of his mouth turned up as Holly came closer and rested her hand on his arm. It faded slightly as his gaze roamed back down to the display in front of him. A small table sat against the far wall, black cloth covering it with a runner of purple crossing over it. Simple picture frames, ranging in size and color, dotted the top. It was accompanied by a tiny votive, the candle within flickering. Faces of the fallen, gone but not forgotten, staring back: Morita, Falsworth, Gabe, Jacques. Dugan shared spaced with Holly's grandparents, three of them passed away before the happy day. In the center was a rare and precious picture, the wedding portrait of his own parents. Most of the others had been scanned off of the Internet, but that one was the genuine article, and something his wife insisted be part of the display. They stood there in loving memory, as the smaller framed sign they ringed around proclaimed. To one side, a stack of paper cups (the size of shot glasses) and a bottle of Irish whiskey were waiting, open to anyone who wanted to toast to those who could not be there for the happy event. Some had taken the opportunity to do so, evidently, as several cups lined the small trash basket stored beneath the table, but thus far, he had not done so.

Having found a free moment, he just wanted to pay his respects to them all. The required dances of the night had been finished, dollars collected in small buckets (Sam had disappeared shortly after that, for a spell; he thought he spotted him ushering someone out and down the far hall, but he wasn't sure), daughter taking to the floor with father, and his mother-son turn with Lisa. It had been kind of her, stepping in where his own mother could not, but deep down he ached, missing those who could not be there. And so he had to go to them, had to look at them all, and try to assuage the pangs in his heart.

"Yeah, I just...wish they could be here, all of them," Steve said, lips twisting a little. Her fingers slid down his arm, entwining with his own as she nodded. Tipping his head toward one frame, he tried to inject some levity into the heavy air. "Dugan would've made quite a stir, and probably would've made the bar run out of beer quicker."

Holly snorted, a touch of wistfulness entering her dark eyes. "Grandma Rose probably would have helped him out with that. At least they're here, this way."

Reaching down, she smoothed a wrinkle out of the purple runner, the music in the background a cheery contrast to the somber mood settling around them.

"Yeah," Steve concurred, exhaling slowly. Unbidden, his eyes flicked towards the small photograph at the back of the cluster, and he frowned. "I don't like his picture being here."

Following his line of sight, Holly bit her lip. That picture had been a point of contention, one that Steve would not easily let go. However, it was not like they could erect a memorial table and not have a picture of Bucky Barnes. No matter what the truth was; to the outer world, he was still dead, and it would look far too suspicious if he was not honored.

"It had to be done," she reminded him in a hushed tone, taking advantage of the cover the music provided. She started rubbing his back gently, her cheek resting against his shoulder. The tense set of his body loosened a bit under her ministrations, but not by much. "You know that."

"I know, I know," he muttered, his chin drooping as he continued to look upon them all. It was hard enough, knowing that his friend was prevented from coming due to his ongoing treatment in rehab. It seemed worse to act as though he were dead. The gentle touch was removed after a short while, but before he could say anything, Holly leaned over the display. Removing two of the paper cups, she took up the bottle and filled them both to the brim. When she'd finished replacing the bottle, she picked one of the cups up, her free palm sliding around his waist.

"C'mon, soldier," she said, glancing pointedly at the remaining cup. Taking the cue, he grabbed it up, his other arm curling around her and pulling her close. Meeting his blue gaze, tender compassion filled hers. "No matter what, they'd all want you to be happy."

Both of them looked down at the pictures again, with Steve's focus pulled to his parents. His mom, her long gown sweeping the floor, flowers in her hand. Dad, at attention, one hand at the small of her back and his eyes piercing across time as he looked straight out. Hints of smiles turned their lips, and memories of the full one his mother would've had came to mind. She would have been happy for him, he knew that, and maybe Dad would have been, too. Happy and proud of their boy, their only son, as he started down a new path of life.

Abruptly, Steve turned to look at Holly again. He held her gaze steadily, genuine feeling in his voice.

"I am. Really."

"Good. Me, too," she replied with a grin, lifting her cup and tapping it against his. Raising them both in a silent toast, they threw back their shots as one. Steve gave a muted wince at the oaky smoke taste coating his mouth and Holly crowed out a low growl as it flowed down her throat. Shaking her head, the crystal combs in her hair caught the lights flashing around the dance floor and shimmered. Chuckling at her low tolerance for whiskey, he pulled her into his embrace, the warmth of her body and heart closing around him.

"I love you, Holly," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her ear and causing a shiver to course through her.

Her head turned, dropping a peck on his cheek and humming in pleasure. "I love you, too, Steven."

It was supposed to be an innocent kiss, but when his mouth met hers, he could not hold back the sweep of desire, running like a smooth undercurrent all day. Cupping her face, his tongue ran along the seam of her lips, and she parted them with the barest gasp. However, before they got in too deep, the catcalls and whoops from the nearby guests broke through, jarring them enough to stop. Embarrassed laughter trickled out as Holly buried her face into his shoulder, and Steve could do no more than grin sheepishly, the burn in his skin flaring when he caught his brother-in-law's eye roll and Paul pinching the bridge of his nose across the room.

"I suppose it wouldn't look good if we snuck out of our own wedding reception, would it?" he asked facetiously, smirking when Holly lifted her head and scoffed.

"Probably not," she confessed, playfulness in her face as she started toying with his tie. Glancing up at him through her eyelashes, she purred, "But if you want to give it a go, I'm game."

The glint in her gaze and the press of her body against his tempted him so very much, he very nearly lost his composure. Swallowing thickly, his grip curled briefly into the folds of her dress in an attempt to stop himself.

"Just a little while longer, I think," Steve said, drawing back slightly, straightening up and shifting onto his back leg. Sighing, Holly dipped her chin, consigning herself to the idea. The last song's track ran out, moving onto something slower. Taking his hand in hers, she lifted a shoulder, cutting her gaze to the dance floor and back to him. The barest hint of a nod was all she needed to start leading him in that direction, the sway of her hips distracting him as they walked.

"Fine. But after the bouquet toss, all bets are off."

 **xXxXxXx**

Blithely, Maria Hill leaned back in her chair, sipping from the glass of red wine in her hand. So far, the wedding was lovely. The DJ was decent, the people around her were interesting, nothing had exploded...pretty good time. There really was only one downside to the event: her lack of a date. And Tony was oh-so-helpfully reminding her of that.

"Maria, I thought you said you were bringing someone," he said, another tumbler of bourbon in hand as he paused at her table. Up until that point, she was lightly chatting with Natasha, congratulating her on catching the bouquet—which was more of Natasha claiming it when it landed nearest to her. The garter toss went a little better, with Steve actually able to aim decently towards the crowd. The maid of honor's boyfriend had caught it, and it was a treat for him to dance with the Black Widow (at least, it should have been; she didn't know the kid well enough to judge). Still, the conversation was left open-ended, allowing Stark to just swoop in when he could. Sticking out his lip in a mock pout, he inquired, "Was Baby left crying in the corner?"

Maria shared a glance with Nick, who was on the other side of the table discussing a few things with the captain. The blandness of his expression gave away nothing, and she hid a smile.

"Nope, his flight got tied up, but he's on his way now. He's very excited to see you all again."

"We've met him? When?" Natasha asked, her crimson dress wafting a little as she shifted in her chair. In her mind, she was combing over the probabilities of whomever it was that had been introduced to all of them. That it was someone associated with SHIELD was not in doubt, but who could it be?

"A few times. He's been very busy recently, but there was no way he was going to miss this," she murmured, her bright gaze purposefully dropping down as she sipped her wine once more. "He actually was going to stop by the base on Monday, but this came up first."

The captain wandered over to stand next to Tony, the pair of men sharing a look. "You're being awfully cryptic, Hill. Who is this guy?"

"Oh, he's..." Her phone buzzed then, the incoming message making her eyes light up impishly when she read it. "Actually, he's right outside. Wait here, I'll go get him."

As she tripped away, the Avengers left behind in her wake glanced curiously to one another. It seemed none of them had an inkling of who the mystery guy was. Fury, though, maintained his expression of calm. Inwardly, he was laughing his ass off at the looks of uncertainty passing amongst the trio, and so he resolved to be near at hand. There was no way he was going to miss that show. Some minutes passed before Maria stepped up to the arched doorway back into the main room. Smoothing down her dark blue dress, she gestured for the person behind her to come along quickly. She turned to watch him come up the steps behind her, her smirk widening with every footfall.

When Maria's date swam into view, Steve felt the blood drain out of his face, a ragged gasp ripping out of him. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Tony's jaw go slack, dark eyes turning glassy and his fingers gripping his glass so hard his knuckles went white. Natasha's easy grin had dropped off her lips, and she had shot up out of her chair, the legs scraping so hard against the floor they squeaked. It couldn't be...

The fellow adjusted his dark tie, his suit pressed and molding to him well. Aviator sunglasses had been perched on his face, though they were superfluous now that the sun had set, and so he tucked them into a pocket. Light brown eyes glided over the scene before him, and he swiped a hand over his thinning brown hair to make sure it was lying in place. Casually, he crooked his elbow out to Maria, who took it and walked with him over to the table. The stunned expression on the faces of the Avengers was nearly enough to make him chuckle, but wisely he held back on it.

The captain, inhaling sharply, was the first to find his tongue. "Agent C-coulson?"

Phil nodded, betraying nothing in his face, not the pounding in his chest or the thread of humor that threatened to surface.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized. Extending a hand, he waited for Steve to grasp it, the shock weakening his shake as he continued to stare. Admiration filled his voice as Coulson went on, "Congratulations, Captain."

A beat of silence passed amongst the members of that small group, incredulous stares boring into the ex-agent. Blinking once, twice, three times, Tony let out a strangled cough...and then promptly sank to the floor in a dead faint. Steve barely had any time to react, his hand automatically snatching at the other fellow's jacket, slowing his descent enough so his head didn't slam against the boards. The glass of bourbon bounced across the floor, shattering when it smashed against a table leg.

"Tony!" Pepper's voice crowed across the room, the redhead bolting over to him. The commotion drew many stares from the guests, looks of cluelessness and worry bouncing from one to the next. From his spot by the far wall, where he was being asked a few questions by the young photographer, Sam craned his neck, brow furrowing in concern.

"What just happened?" He glanced down to the companion on his right, watching as Kay's assessing dark gaze swept over the scene. Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she lit upon an answer that she could afford to give.

"I don't know, but given the fact that Tony Stark just swooned, the Black Widow is bug-eyed and Captain America is whiter than his wife's dress, I'd say it looks pretty damn interesting," she told him, a corner of her mouth turning up just as Nick Fury shot a look across the room to her, inclining his head. As the new arrival (her almost-boss, once upon a time) moved to help get the unconscious billionaire off the floor, and the bride picked her way over to the mess with her maid of honor in tow, the young woman snickered to herself. "Debriefing on Monday is going to be so much fun."

Taking in her sardonic delight, Sam spared a glance to his left, spying Peter's aghast stare. "Please tell me you got pictures, kid."

Peter, jerked out of his staring, outright scoffed at that, lifting his camera and showing how his button finger had not stepped pressing down. Surreptitious clicks of the camera firing off seemed to echo around them as a toothy grin decorated his lips.

"Like I'd let the opportunity slide, Mr. Wilson."

 **xXxXxXx**

"Am I gonna have to carry you into the room? You did get quite a shock earlier," Holly attempted to kid with Steve when they disembarked for the hotel. The clean-up for the community club was in her mother and Sarah's capable hands, the gathering of gifts and cards their responsibility until the next morning. The remaining festivities of the reception had gone well enough, though the cake cutting was a little suspect. Steve's hand shook so terribly that she had to be the one to actively cut into the confection. Little by little, he had recovered, as well as Natasha and Tony (who had to sit outside on the steps for a long moment, with Pepper stroking his back and the Vision attending on them every so often), but that hadn't erased the surprise. And the pain, if that dark look streaking in his irises was anything to go by.

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes at his own behavior. "Only if this was 1942, sweetheart. I'll be fine. It's just..."

"Not what you were expecting?" she supplied, knowing full well that she hadn't even begun to cover what he was feeling. When she had met Agent—Director, she reminded herself—Coulson back in January, she had no idea who he really was, what his significance was in SHIELD and with the Avengers. Steve had since then filled her in on the details, and...

Well, she knew now.

"No. They told us he...Fury said..." he trailed off, squeezing his eyelids shut against the onslaught of memories, of those dark hours on the helicarrier so long ago. Exhaling sharply, he opened his eyes, stared up at the dull brown ceiling of the cab they were in. "But Fury also made us believe he was dead, too. Maybe I shouldn't take things like this, this way."

He shrugged, a rueful expression flitting across his face. Frowning, Holly tilted her head, taking his hands in hers.

"What, and act like it's nothing instead? I don't think you should act any differently than you have," she said, thumbs sweeping over his knuckles. Quiet permeated the cab for a few moments, his fingers squeezing hers. Huffing under her breath, she settled back in her seat, her head dropping onto his shoulder. The long hours of the day were starting to get to her, and from the slump of Steve's form, the loll of his head against the seat, she knew it was the same for him. More so, in fact. "Just do me a favor: if something like this happens again, don't pass out. Unlike Tony, I don't think I could get you off the floor."

Chuckles rumbled in his chest, and he let out a dramatic sigh. "I'll try, just for you."

Several minutes passed before the cab rolled up to the front of the hotel, fare and tip trading hands easily before they got out. Slowly, the couple made their way up to their second floor lodgings, arm in arm as they went. The closer they got to the door, the tighter Steve's grip became, and the burn inside her amped up with every step. Husband and wife paused in their journey, looking to one another. Alone, for the first time in hours, the hall of the hotel was deserted. It emboldened Holly to push Steve back against the nearby wall, fingers threading into his hair and pulling him down for the deep kiss they'd been unable to continue earlier. Hands roamed freely, the buttons of his jacket coming loose and the combs in her hair being knocked askew as they went. The heat between them climbed higher and higher as her tongue dragged along his, soft moans muffled as much as possible in the open space.

Breaking off the kiss, sucking in a deep breath, she knew that staying out of the room was not a viable option.

"We should probably go in."

The eagerness of his nod made her giggle, made her feel giddy in spite of the exhaustion of her form.

"Yeah." Steve fished his copy of the key card out of his pocket, letting her go and turning away from her. For a couple seconds, he struggled with it, pulling and pushing the card too fast to let the scanner read it properly. Leaning against the wall, Holly crossed her arms and closed her eyes.

"The key card door lock kinda brings down the drama of the whole tradition," she muttered, shaking her head as Steve slid the card in and out. Once the green light reflected out at them, he cranked on the door handle, swinging the portal wide open. Before she could take a single step, he held out a hand, making her pause. Digging into his other pocket, he extracted one of the paper programs from the ceremony and folding it over a few times. Kneeling down, he wedged it underneath the door, an impromptu stopper to keep it in place.

"Does it?" he wondered, blue eyes reflecting the hall lights. Deftly, he hooked an arm around her back, the other scooping behind her knees. A squeak came out of Holly as her arms flew around his shoulders. Adjusting to his hold on her, she swallowed, letting one palm slide down to his tie and looking up in time to see his gaze grow darker. "I don't think so."

With that, he carried her across the threshold, kicking out the paper stopper as he went and the door slamming shut behind them, neither of them caring.

* * *

 **A/N:** Holy...balls. Welcome to the longest chapter I've ever, EVER written, everybody. Soak in it...I did so much wedding research for this, I could plan my own wedding now. Good Lord...which totally included the music. If you want to know what the processional music/first dance songs were, feel free to ask!

Yes, we finally get to the wedding. I tried to keep the actual ceremony part short, since I know reading a long-winded rehash of a wedding ceremony is not what everyone is about. But yay, Holly and Steve finally tied the knot! It's sappy and corny and happy...and so many interesting things happened. Feel free to discuss...

Sorry if the clothing description was too much. Didn't mean to weigh you down with too much of that stuff. But dude, it's the wedding dress, how can I not? Images of the dress and rings can be found at my LiveJournal; same username as here (phantomproducer), the most recent entry.

I may be of Irish descent, but I do not know any Gaelic. Had to use an online translator for the one phrase Steve utters:  
" _A_ _chroí._ _"_ -My heart.

My headcanon says that his mother taught him some Gaelic, but due to the stigma back then of growing up Irish, he was encouraged not to use it in public. In private, though, it was okay.

You may be wondering what will come next after this...I can't tell you. Because that's the next chapter. But...well...I will tell you this. The next chapter will be the last chapter of _The Eleventh Hour_. Crazy, right? I know, man, I know...it's been a fun ride. But, as I have said and hinted multiple times, this does not mark the end of Holly and Steve's time together. No, no...there will be a  third installment of this series (cue brain explosions), which in my mind I've started calling the "Of Time" series. However, due to the extreme length of this last chapter, the next one won't be coming out before next weekend, so I'll have to ask you all to bear with me as I recover and prepare to go on the next leg of the journey. I'll say my thank-yous and such then, so we put it off for a little while longer, my dears.

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references/apps that may have been mentioned.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I will see you all for the next one!

EDIT: Finished TWO sexytimes one-shots about Holly and Steve, one when they're both on the helicarrier after the evens of the Battle of Sokovia in Ch. 29, and the other that takes place immediately after the end of this chapter. Head on over to my AO3 account and read them (same name as here:PhantomProducer) if you're of proper age, maturity, and whatnot.


	35. Chapter 35

The Monday morning debriefing was, in its own way, as entertaining as was predicted. Granted, very few of the staff onsite at the base even knew it was taking place. It was best not to let out the news that Phil Coulson was actually very much alive and well; so much hinged upon the secrecy, on maintaining the illusion. It was beyond time, though, that the Avengers had learned of his continued survival, and—more to the point—of the purpose of his revival.

There was more going on, so much more, than anybody was aware of. Beneath the layers of normal humanity were deeper, darker ones. Mixed bloods and generations of enhanced beings, of those who developed powers beyond normal capabilities. These were the people, that was the division, that Coulson had been charged with overlooking. His team of agents had been turned into a sort of special operations group, seeking out the altered individuals to either offer them shelter or work, depending upon what they were willing to do. The group would continue to do so, staying in the shadows, and go on lending aid to the Avengers as was needed. They would come if they were called upon, them as well as another specialist group that Fury had contact with, but otherwise they would remain in the background.

The protection of the base, and the outer world, would remain in the Avengers' hands.

Personally, Sam did not think much about the director's appearance, his continued relations with not only Nick Fury but Maria as well, or even anything about his specialist team. If they could work together, towards the same goal of keeping the world out of danger, he wasn't about to nay-say them. Nor could anyone else; the shock of his arrival at the wedding was still strong days after the event. He, and some of the associates that had accompanied him to the base, were gone in a short while, after conferring with Fury and the captain about staying in touch, distress calls and the like to be used as needed.

No, it was another appearance that had Sam twisted and churning on the inside.

Nearly two weeks after their wedding, Steve and Holly had departed for their honeymoon, choosing the holiday weekend as an excuse to get away, lost in the crowds of travelers and therefore not easily noticed. With the captain gone, those who remained were entrusted to keep an eye on everything, to watch out over their new home and protect it from outside menaces. It was highly unlikely that anyone would really be able to breach the outer defenses, and so the captain was able to leave with confidence, hoping the trust that was growing in him for his new team would not be misplaced.

Sitting on a bench outside the equipment storage, the Falcon tipped his head back against the wall. Maybe Steve shouldn't have trusted them so much. Or at least not him. Guilt and frustration warred within him as he rubbed at a sore spot on his arm, the rough landings he had endured already making bruises rise. He should have brought back-up; he knew better than to enter an entanglement alone. The blip on the radar had been small, though, and none of the others had thought it necessary to escalate the situation.

It had escalated, though, in a way none of them had thought possible.

"Hey there," a familiar voice crooned, and when he opened his eyes, he saw dark eyes framed by blue hair, underscored by a small smile. In her hands were pieces of tact gear, specially designed and regulated for agents. She must have dropped by to pick them up, happening upon him as she exited. Lifting a corner of his mouth, he shrugged a shoulder with it.

"Hey," he responded mildly, tipping his head back again. Much as he enjoyed Kay's company—in the number of times they passed after the wedding, that was—he wasn't sure he was in the mood for a pleasant exchange. He'd made some pretty foolish mistakes, and it had cost the team. Well, not terribly much, but things were stolen, things that were entrusted to their safekeeping, and the little he'd done to stop it was not enough. He felt awful about it, and it must have shown in his face, given how Kay sucked in a sharp breath and sighed.

"Tough day, huh?" she asked, a loud snort being the answer. Of course, she already knew the basics of what had gone down that afternoon. Though they had been at the base for only around a month, gossip still spread like wildfire amongst the agents there. It was hard to keep a lid on something like the Falcon getting trashed by a guy who could shrink to the size of a blade of grass. He was just lucky there hadn't been cameras and an audience watching every move. For her part, she thought it had been a raw deal, all around. Shifting in her stance, she glanced over her shoulder once, as though she expected someone else to have shown up in the hall as well. "You look like you need a drink...or six."

Looking at her once more, at the hand outstretched towards him, he nodded before standing. That, he could do.

"Let's start with one, and go from there."

Moving at a slow pace, he let her lead the way through the nearly abandoned halls of the base to the garage. Her car, a nondescript black vehicle, conveyed them away from the base, with her navigating the roads towards the town she had chosen as her residence. Idly, he wondered if maybe she would be taking him back to her place—he hadn't seen it as of yet—but soon enough, they were in the parking lot of a dive bar. It didn't look like much from the outside, but the place was clean and there were drinks to be had. The fact that the bar stools were frayed and the televisions were out of date didn't even register with him as they took their seats, ordering drinks. As they waited, Sam used the cover of the music pumping from the overhead sound system to his advantage, telling Kay a few more details about the fight with the intruder that afternoon. Perhaps he should have reservations about telling a would-be spy the details of a mission she had no part in, but at that point he really did not care anymore. Everyone, from the tech guys to the random trainees he had passed on his way back into the building after the fight, knew what had happened. He figured that if Kay really wanted to spill secrets about him, she would have done so by then (just their hooking up alone would be ample grist for the mill for weeks).

"Really? He called himself Ant-Man?" she asked, face creasing in disbelief when he shared the fellow's title. Sinking into his chair, he took a long pull from his beer before answering.

"Hand to God," he promised, the wry smirk he had on turning down into a grimace. There was no way he could have been mistaken about that. "You know, it's bad enough to get your ass kicked on your home turf; it's another thing altogether when it's done by someone who can shrink to the size of your nail."

She tutted under her breath, giving him a mock pout in sympathy as she tied her hair back into a ponytail.

"Next time, bring a file and bust that cuticle. Or some RAID, whichever comes first."

"I'll do that," Sam promised, rotating the bottle in his hands and shaking his head. "The fact remains that the dude walked away with some of Tony's equipment, and I'm grounded for the time being."

It would be a minimum of three days' worth of work, he had been told. Not because resources were hard to find, but because it had happened on the cusp of Fourth of July weekend. Hardly anyone would be around to even look at the shredded wires and circuits that would need tending.

"What did the Cap say about it all?" Kay wondered, taking a sip from her glass. Several beats of silence passed, and curiously she looked at him. Studiously, Sam focused on the chalkboard menu on the far wall, seemingly fascinated by the idea of buffalo wings. Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

Darting a glance at her, his lips set in a thin line as he shrugged. "He's on his honeymoon. I'm not going to bother him with something like this right now."

 _Or ever,_ his brain spat up, his mouth occupied with another pull from the bottle. If there was one good thing to come from the whole affair, it was that Steve had been gone since early that morning, and thus far had no clue about what had gone on in his absence. He could deal with the askance thrown his way by the others on the team, those who were still at the base that afternoon. The captain's reaction would be in another ball park altogether. Best not to risk that.

She snorted, rolling her eyes playfully. "Chicken."

"I am not," he retorted, mirth injected into his tone.

"Are, too." The back and forth went on for a few moments before she outright laughed and swallowed some more of her cocktail. "You want to keep this up? Because I grew up with two brothers and a little sister; I can do this for the rest of the night."

Chuckling, Sam conceded the argument with as much grace as he possibly could. For a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence, drinking and pointing out the players coming up to bat as a game played on the television nearest to them. The other bar patrons filtered in and out around them, their chatter rising and falling at turns, enveloping them in the crowd as well.

"You going to the big shindig in the city that Mr. Stark is hosting tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, after waving down the bartender and putting in an order for the grill. Wilson furrowed his brow, remembering how Tony had extended an invitation to all those at the base for a major display in the city. It would no doubt be preceded by a party, and as a member of the main team, he had merited an invite to both. However, everyone evacuating the grounds would not be ideal; it was agreed that he and Rhodey would remain behind, both of them a little relieved at the prospect, as it turned out. He shook his head in the negative, dark eyes losing some of their luster as he considered it.

"Someone has to stay back and hold down the fort. Besides...I'm not a big fan of fireworks," he confessed quietly. Which was a shame; before he did his two tours, he had loved fireworks. He liked the bright colors, the crackles, the paths and pictures they carved into the sky. Now, though, the sounds haunted him, bringing back the memories of overseas, of his partner Riley's fall. Tapping a finger along the surface of the bar, he inquired, "What about you?"

Kay blinked, canting her head. "Depends."

Sam raised an eyebrow, curious. "On what?"

"On how you feel about sparklers, since rockets are out of the question." She held her friendly expression, but as several long seconds stretched in which Sam said nothing, she had to drop it, her gaze focusing on the grain of the bar. He had been a little taken aback by the request. Kay had always struck him as a bold person—it was literally personified in her hair, for goodness' sake—but this seemed different. Granted, they had hooked up a couple times before that day, but that was all that had happened. Well, they had spoken at the wedding...and traded texts on and off for the past couple of weeks...flirty hellos and conversations in the halls of the base whenever they bumped into one another...kind of like when he was pursuing…

 _Oh._

He blinked at his own bout of stupidity. He was really off his game, he realized. And he was leaving her hanging like an idiot, staring as she traced along the grain on the bar before flattening her palm against it. Enough of that.

"...Sparklers can be fun," he said eventually, taking her hand in his and squeezing it.

Careful happiness lit up her dark eyes, her face, as she looked up and tapped her glass against his bottle. "They're more fun after some beer and steaks."

He smiled then. "I'm cool with that."

Later, after the sun had fully set and the pair had duked it out over a few rounds of pool, Sam was dropped back at the base feeling lighter than he had before. With promises to call and let her know when he was on the way out the next day, he got out of Kay's car, a kiss on the cheek and a wink her farewell to him. Standing by the road, he watched as she pulled a U-turn in the grass and flew down the frontage road, hands in his pockets and a grin on his lips.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated, jerking him out of his reverie and back into the present. Retrieving it, he looked at the notification light blinking and swiped at the screen. It was a text message...a text message from Steve. Inhaling deeply, he drew his thumb across the screen and opened it up.

 _ **I know about what happened. We'll discuss it when I get back next week. Next time, don't wait to tell me about a breach until after the Vision rats you out.**_

Out loud, Sam blew out a groan, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He should've known better than to expect his edict against the captain finding out what had happened to have been obeyed at all. The android in particular was still a little too green in regards to human relations and such; to him, the information needing to be told immediately to the team leader would far outweigh the need to attend to his pride. And it was pride that prevented Sam from telling the truth. Mostly.

Well, there was nothing left for him to do but to brazen it out. Or to deflect, which was what he instead attempted.

 _You shouldn't even be on the grid right now. Doesn't your wife need you to do something?_

 _ **Of course she did. Why do you think I didn't say anything earlier? I was too busy. ;)**_

Guffaws flew out of Sam's mouth as he read that, tapping out a response as he turned on his heel and strode towards the security access door.

 _You sent an emoji. So you can teach an old dog new tricks, apparently._

 _ **Shut up**_ , was the apt rejoinder. The response bubble blipped for a few moments onscreen before another message was sent. _ **Debriefing in a week.**_

 _Yes, sir._

Sam sighed again, tapping in his code to be allowed access to the building and entering. A week, a week until his dressing down. Well, in the meantime, he could make the most of the days that would follow. The buffer of time and companionship would take away the sting, on both ends. And he was more than okay with that.

 **xXxXxXx**

Leaning back in his chair, Steve breathed out slowly, the scratch of the pencil increasing as he shaded in a portion of his subject on the paper. It was well past sunrise, the light stretching and brightening the world around him. The ocean was rolling gently, and the breeze barely stirred the grasses by the deck upon which he was seated. The pad of paper was balanced against the railing as he worked, his sharp gaze flicking from it to the waters beyond, the morning by the sea captured quietly. Some people were already dotting the sand up and down the beach, but the relative peace surrounding him was uninterrupted as he put in a few more touches to his sketch.

Steve had arrived with Holly at the house in Sagaponack, Tony's beach home at their disposal for the week ("You guys can go in, clean off the dust before Pep and I use it in August. Just leave the surfaces as clean as you found them," he'd teased, pleased to have gotten enough of a rise out of Steve that a smattering of pink decorated his cheekbones). The previous day, Friday, had consisted of getting everything into the house—groceries had been purchased for the first few nights, so they could spend some meals away from the public eye—as well as arming the security system before running up to the master bedroom…and not going any farther. His own personal exploration was conducted after waking, Holly nearly buried in the sheets beside him and the slow glow of the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The place was large, the vastness of the space consistent with Stark residences (something he would never get used to, he surmised to himself). However, rather than cool, angular lines and metals that comprised the set-up of modern abodes, the house had more woods and carpets, the numerous furniture pieces softer and lending it a cozier feel. One had to wonder if Tony left the choices up to whoever had been his interior designer at the time, only stepping in to update the electronic and technological aspects whenever he had the time. Either that, or it was yet another project bearing more of Pepper's imprint that one would originally think. It was very much the "vacation house" and therefore permitted to be out of the norm in terms of his personal tastes, no matter what one speculated.

It was big, and private, and all theirs for a week and some change. Steve was uncertain what they would do with all that time away from work and the base, but he looked forward to figuring it out with his wife. He'd officially established radio silence after messaging Sam the night before, wanting to keep his promise of separating himself from the work, give himself the time to spend with his family. It would be a little difficult, particularly when all his coworkers had access to the AI connected to all of Stark's bases and residences, but he would find a way to make it happen. He wanted to do it, and so he took advantage of the quiet, of the peacefulness, and delved back into the work that was for him only, that made him happy. Well, one of the things that made him happy.

A clatter came through the sliding door behind him, his ears pricking up as he heard the muttered curse. Snickering to himself, he turned to look over his shoulder, watching as Holly moved around the kitchen and set a pan onto the stove, mix and milk beside a bowl on the counter. Swiftly, he closed his sketchbook, returning indoors in order to take over making some breakfast for both of them. Relief flitted over her features when she saw him; she really was no connoisseur at making the most rudimentary of breakfast meals. It wouldn't do either of them any good if Tony's kitchen went up in flames, just because she tried cooking pancakes.

After finishing the meal they'd scrounged together, the couple made their way back upstairs, trading off turns in the shower and dressing. The plans for the day centered around sticking to the property, as they did not feel the great urge to go out the day after arrival. A whole stretch of beach was at their disposal, something neither of them had ready access to in everyday life, as Holly pointed out. Once he'd changed out of his sleepwear into proper clothes, Steve went back down, pausing in the foyer. A credenza was set up across from the front door, flush against the wall by the stairs. Among other things they had scrambled to grab on their way out the door, they had managed to snatch up their mail. The base's mail wasn't actually delivered there; any letters, bills, et cetera were distributed to the post offices of the three nearest towns for the sake of anonymity and safety, and picked up by a designated person from the mailing department. Consequently, anything received had the tendency to be an additional day or two late. Still, at least they managed to get it, and the stack received was perched where they'd dropped it the night before.

"Hey, did you look through the mail yet?" he called up the stairs, picking it up and turning it over. Several of the items bore Holly's name, the legal change not yet affected. After a few seconds, she came around the corner at the top of the stairs, now fully dressed and shaking her head as she clambered down the steps.

"Nah. We were rushing so fast to leave yesterday, and then we got here, and well…" Holly trailed off there, a saucy grin growing on her lips as she met him at the bottom. Stretching up, she tempted him with a peck at the corner of his mouth, which he chased after when she tried to pull back. Several moments were lost in the pursuit before she pulled back and hummed happily, casting a glance at the stack of letters in his hand. "So no, I haven't."

Carefully, he thumbed through it, several mailers and a couple of legitimate-looking envelopes for her, some fan mail interspersed for him. One envelope, however, arrested his attention. Recognizing the return address in the corner, he sucked in a breath, at once curious and dreading the contents. It had come from the Country House, the handwriting familiar to his eyes. Holly, seeing the trepidation in his face, laid a palm along his shoulder, inquiring about what was wrong. Hastily he assured her it was nothing bad, but that he needed a little space to read the letter. Nodding, she let him go, warily watching him as he padded towards the back deck. Once he was out of sight, she looked down at her own letters and sighed.

Out in the open air, he drew in a deep breath, slowly descending the steps leading directly onto the sand. On the last few, at the edge of the invisible barrier of the security perimeter, he sat down. The envelope opened stiffly, though he was careful not to rip the letter within. Inhaling and exhaling a few times, Steve unfolded the letter, the neat scrawl of his old friend marching across the page as he scanned the lines.

 _Steve,_

 _I'm not sure how to start this letter. To be honest, I'm not sure I even should write it. The doc has told me that writing should help in some way, provide a release for everything that I have inside. As if I didn't let out enough in the hour-long sessions or something. Trouble with that is that I don't even know the half of what's inside me. It's all a weird jumble of hate, fear, and anger…almost nothing good. And the very little good in there, well, doesn't feel halfway real at times._

 _But that's more stuff I should be putting in the journals she's got me writing in, too, and not this letter._

 _It started as an exercise, she said, in writing letters to people whom I felt were owed an explanation, or apologies. So I did write one to you, but it's not one you're ever going to read. There was too much in it, too much to go over and too much to take in. Instead, when I had finished burning those letters, I got to think about really writing. Writing to...whoever would be willing to write back. I remember writing back home while out on the front, being stuck in a tent while it was pouring rain. Sending a picture to my little sister, telling you about the neat stories the older guys had to tell. It's like looking through cloudy glass, when I think about those things. Or like if you watched yourself on the television, I guess—by the way, one of the few things I'm pissed to have missed out on for so long—you know it happened, can see the proof for yourself, but for a long time, it doesn't feel like it was you._

 _This is my second draft. I had to start over, because…well, like I said before, I'm not sure. A part of me knows who you are, knows that you were an important part of my life. Like a brother. It's in there, I understand that. But, well, who you are supposed to be and what you are now…connections can't be made, and I can't get past it. All part and parcel of brainwashing and being fed lies for nearly seventy years, I suppose. Again, more to work on with my therapist, who won't know I'm doing this until after I get the correct address and mail this to you. She doesn't need to know everything I do all the time._

 _Anyway, I guess the reason I'm writing is to starting figuring it out. Just like with everything else in this scrambled mess called my brain. I want to figure out what exactly this is supposed to be. The best way to do so is probably just to start over. Maybe I can't get back to where I was before, or even who, but I can try to get something good started. I hope you'll help me with that._

 _Let me know._

— _James_

 _PS: Congratulations, punk. You better do right by that girl you've got. She seems okay, for the most part. Also, next time you talk to Natasha, tell her she was right: the air conditioning here is godawful._

Steve's lips turned up at the corners at the last part, but he soon slid back into the pensive expression he had been sporting the entire time he had been reading. Healing for Bucky would not be quick, no matter what minimum Fury had imposed, and neither would it end when he left the facility in the country. However, the letter was an indicator that he was already traveling down the road. For that, Steve was pleased...and perhaps a bit sad. To recall things, but not feel the connection to them, was unimaginable. There was a lot in Bucky's life that could be deemed as such, and as much as it pained him to admit it, Steve had no real understanding of.

That didn't mean that he would let Bucky reach and find nothing but air. Not that time. If he couldn't understand, somebody would. And perhaps that somebody could be persuaded to hear out his erstwhile best friend. If she had a moment to spare. And what he could do for Bucky, starting with answering the letter when he had a spare moment, he would do. He owed him no less, in his estimation.

Folding up the letter, he had just stowed it and the envelope in his pocket, blue gaze focusing on the ocean's rolling waves, when he heard the shouts. Jumping up and pivoting on his heel, he looked in time to see Holly streaking out from the house, door slamming shut behind her as she stamped her way down the deck to the stairs.

"Steve, Steve!" she cried, dark hair whipping around her face as she tramped down to him. On alert, he scanned her person for any signs of injury or distress. Instead, he found excitement and hopefulness, her own letter still in hand.

"Where's the fire, doll?" he wondered, grabbing her arm and steadying her when she threatened to tumble over her own feet getting to him. Taking his contemplative expression, her eyes reflected darkly at him, her brow furrowing as she looked him over.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, resting a palm on his chest. Slowly, he tipped his head to one side, inhaling deeply as he jumbled mess of his mind began to wind down.

"Not bad, all things considered," he told her. Off her skeptical glance, he chuckled weakly, laying his hand over hers. "Really. What's going on?"

Blinking, Holly swallowed, holding up the letter and offering to let him look it over.

"I…I got an acceptance letter. Or, at least, they want to talk about it with me. See about maybe publishing my book soon," she said, her tone airy, as though she could hardly believe that it was happening. Taking the paper from her, he scanned it quickly, the thanks and inquiries about setting up a meeting within the next few weeks greeting his eyes.

"That's great!" he crooned, a genuine smile coming to the fore. She returned it, shrugging a shoulder as she took the letter back.

"Yeah! I mean, it's nothing firm, it's more about discussing options, feeling each other out, but—" She was cut off by Steve folding her into his embrace and lifting her off her feet. Automatically, her arms wrapped around his neck, a merry giggle coursing out of her as he squeezed her gently. His eyes closed as warmth flooded through him. Setting her back on her feet, he continued to hold on as her arms moved down to ring his waist, her head resting on his shoulder. Laying a cheek against her hair, he sighed contentedly.

"So happy for you," he told her, and he truly was. A dream of hers was being realized, slowly but surely. The longing, the waiting, the moments of doubt and indecisiveness she'd endured before that moment, he understood that completely. And he understood how great and scary it was to be on the precipice of the changes that would come with it. There was nothing else he could do but be pleased for her sake, and be there for her as the world shifted once again.

 **xXxXxXx**

It hadn't taken much coaxing for Steve to join Holly on a walk along the beach late in the afternoon. They meandered up and down the stretch of sand, passing the neighbors' houses who allowed them to go undisturbed. Barefoot, her feet pressed into the wet sand as they ventured close to the waterline, the occasional lap of waves drifting in and out as they went. The Atlantic was not very warm, but she had gotten used to the chilly sweep of it as they moved along.

"You sure this is alright?" Steve asked after a few moments of silence. He canted his head when she looked up at him, a question in her eyes. "We can head into the city and see the display, if you want. Tony said it's supposed to be something else."

Despite being off the grid and away from the others, Stark had still extended the invitation to them. As he was employed to set up the Fourth of July fireworks display for New York that year, it stood to reason that he would like his friends to come down and see it, if they could. He may have even promised that he would keep the sky so lit it would be like the sun had shot back up over the horizon for a time. And they had discussed going before. Ultimately, they had chosen not to attend. Last year, Steve had been on display himself, attempting to rebound after failing to find Bucky and needing to improve public opinion on his character after the helicarrier disaster. She knew that he didn't really want to do that again, especially not so soon after their marriage; the media had driven themselves into a frenzy when they realized that they had gotten married right under their noses and were determined to catch them out at the next possible moment. For all they knew, they probably were being stalked by paparazzi at that very second, but it was more difficult for them to do so out in the Hamptons, where they had to contend with the highly wealthy and sensitive set on top of everything else. And she didn't want that, either.

Better not to give them the chance. Not that time. A small grin played across her lips as she tilted her head, pretending to think on it.

"And give up the chance to have Captain America all to myself on Independence Day? No way," she giggled, taking his arm and stepping over a piece of washed-up driftwood. Dark eyes glided from the waves to his face, thoughtfulness bleeding through her amusement. "We can livestream it later, with the sound turned down. Do you want to go?"

After a moment or two, he gave the barest shake of his head. Out the corner of her eye, she saw a corner of his mouth lift slyly.

"Something tells me it would be best not to skip out on my honeymoon. The wife might not like it," he murmured, smirking and patting the hand on his arm a little. Understanding, Holly bit back a laugh, attempting to keep her expression stoic.

"Ah, she's a hardass, is she? Probably crazy, too. You must be a saint to put up with her," she retorted sardonically, playing it up as she went.

The smirk turned rueful, and his gaze focused on a distant point in front of them. "Actually, I'm lucky with how much she puts up with me. Given how often I get involved in strange and dangerous situations."

A long moment of silence passed between them, the words being digested as they walked a little further. Gnawing on her lip, Holly dipped her chin, her free hand gliding through the air as though she were reaching for the answer, grabbing it when it came to her.

"Maybe that's part of the appeal for her," she joked mildly, a little hum in his throat his response. Pressing her fingers into his bicep, she stopped, halting him midstride. Turning to face him fully, she let seriousness invade her tone as she continued, "Maybe she thinks you're worth it, no matter if aliens or psycho robots, or anything else, crop up every now and again."

"Maybe," he said, fingers coming up remove a renegade strand of hair out of her face. Tucking it behind her ear, he slid his hand down to cradle her neck. Stepping closer, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, a loving caress. Pulling back after a few seconds, he whispered, "She's worth it, too. More than worth it."

Grinning broadly, Holly kissed him once more, drawing back when it was time to turn around and go home.

Dinner was had late, after they spent time in the basement rec room, arguing about what to watch: the prerecorded game between the Dodgers and the Mets, or a movie. In the end, the baseball game won out, mainly because Steve actually used it being his birthday as the excuse, and Holly, highly amused by it, gave in with good cheer. The meal was had while he actively spoke to the players on the screen, one of the few times his Brooklyn accent (which he took so much trouble to stem in everyday life) came out thick and hard, and she watched his animated gestures as though they were a show in and of themselves. Taking up the finished plates, she came back down with a surprise hidden behind her back. As he groaned in frustration at one of the plays made, his head flopping back against the couch cushion, she came up, setting the small cake out on the coffee table before him. A single candle was seated in the center, which she lit quickly before pausing the game with the remote. Sitting back up, Steve viewed the small cake in front of him, his half grin returning as he looked at it.

"I know, it's not quite as glamorous as last year, but…" Holly let the statement end there, lifting a shoulder. Coming around behind him, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. Dropping a peck below his ear (and feeling the slight tremor as it shook him), she murmured, "Happy birthday, Steve."

Grinning wryly, Steve brought up a hand, tracing his fingers over the bare skin of her arm. "Last year, Natasha dumped confetti all over the place. I'm okay with this."

Another kiss was planted, that time on his temple, along with the admonishment to make a wish. Thinking for a moment, he blew out the candle soon enough, keeping his wish to himself when she asked and chuckling when she rolled her eyes at him. In good humor, the couple split the miniature cake right down the middle, forks pulled out of her back pocket and the two of them indulging in the confection before moving onto the small collection of gifts waiting for him upstairs. He'd tried to talk his fellows out of getting him anything, since the wedding happened only two weeks beforehand and he did not need them, but that had not stopped them from packing up a box for him when he and Holly had loaded her car. A couple of new books lined the bottom, one of them a biography of the Founding Fathers (the note sent ahead said it seemed to be appropriate, given that he'd known them personally; Steve pulled a face at Tony's dig before snorting to himself), with an old Dodgers pennant lying below. Intermixed with a couple gift cards and the joke sheet from the 1940's—some of which made even him cringe at the lameness of them, and thus made him laugh,anyway—was a folded, hand-drawn picture of the Barton family pressed to the side. And there also were art supplies; new tubes of paint, brushes, and a palette with his initials stamped into it. He crowed happily at those, eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline when he realized not all the paint was just for gracing a canvas (Holly turned her head away quickly, no doubt laughing silently as he passed a hand over his face and set the paint back down).

"And what's this?" he asked, noticing the battered gift bag that had been dropped on the bedroom floor by the suitcases. It had made the trip down with them, and he had assumed it was another present for him. Since it did not make an appearance with the others, though, he had wondered about its true purpose. His fingers dipped into it, brushing against the rumpled tissue paper. Eyes widened as they registered what they were looking at, and he blew out a low whistle. Holly, looking over her shoulder at him, winced at his find before a strained smile came to her lips.

"Something you're either going to find funny or stupid," she replied. Glancing up, he raised an eyebrow, shuffling in the bag and removing the garment in question. Neither descriptor fit in his mind, and so he shook his head in denial.

"I think 'provocative' would be the more appropriate term," he intoned mildly, swallowing a little as he stared at it. His imagination was already filling in the blanks for him, and he rather liked them. To her, though, he muttered, "And it's a very...interesting take on the flag."

"That was the idea, or so I was told. All part of the fun of a birthday/honeymoon/Independence Day night, at least as far Captain America will be concerned. Maybe..." Here she bit her lip, cupping a hand at the air and uncertain whether his expression could be read as good or bad. "It's just a silly bachelorette gift, so if you'd rather not—"

"Oh, no. This I gotta see," he interrupted, passing the bag off to her and smirking. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he nodded to the bathroom and indicated for her to go ahead. The darkening of his eyes and the deepening tone of his voice were set off by the innocent roll of his shoulders when her eyebrows inclined in question. His head drooped bashfully as he jested, "There have to be some perks to being a national icon."

She snorted outright, laughing even as she obliged him and changed.

Much later, after indulging in the "perk" that Holly had packed for him, they were stretched out in the bed, wrapped up in the sheets and staring up at the ceiling. In point of fact, they were staring up at the display screen above the bed, mounted most likely so that Tony wouldn't have to actually roll over to view a window display like at his regular home. The shades had been drawn, blocking out the lights of the stars and the quiet rush of the waves. The soundproofing option had been engaged, which would help combat the stray rocket blasting through the air at 3 AM (thereby preventing Steve from waking up, mind far away in horrid memories and body shaking violently as Holly attempted to talk him down). Above them was a live telecast of the magnificent fireworks display happening at the Tower, the volume turned down so that the shooting rockets and screaming works were hardly audible. Every now and again, cuts to the reporter on the scene were interspersed with the blasts, with her attempting to wave down Tony Stark as he directed the display to go on.

Star-bursts bloomed, ringed by blue and red. Gold and violet, crimson and green lit up the sky above New York City, bright and booming above the free citizens below. One by one, symbols of the nation, symbols of the team rose up and showered down. One by one they echoed and flashed, cheering and awed appreciation following, captured forever on the digital file.

"Beautiful," Holly muttered, her eyes fluttering shut as she nestled against Steve's side. Wrapping his arm around her, he held her close.

"Yeah," he responded, blinking tiredly as the screen flashed and cut away again, lighting up with the faces of his teammates and friends—the cameraman finally got a good angle. Natasha was pointing out the last cluster to the man on her right, shaking her head and smiling. Tony stood to there, hands tucked into pockets, his shoulders hunching minutely every time another rocket exploded. Still, he looked proud of his creation, of the little bit of joy he was bringing to others. And just beyond him was Wanda, her expression filled with childlike wonderment as she held onto the Vision's arm, the android dutifully staring at the display as well. Her first Independence Day, both of theirs, really. Fascination and trepidation lit up their countenances, illuminated by the bright flashes above them.

The bright flashes, in turn, illuminated the room, the muted blasts splaying colors around the darkened room. They accentuated the bodies in the bed, the man staring thoughtfully above, his grip tightening on the woman now sleeping soundly in his embrace. Idly, he trailed a finger over the hand she had rested on his stomach, on the two bands wrapping around the fourth finger. His gaze dropped from the screen above, a small command to shut down following. In the darkness, he could just see the outline of his shield, parked on the nearest lounge since their arrival, staring back at him as the night enveloped them. The lids of his eyes grew heavier as he considered all that the day had to offer, what it had to offer others, and what the coming days would allow them as well.

"I wonder what's next," he said aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. Closing his eyes, he pulled Holly a little closer, sighing in contentment just he fell into sleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, here we are, folks. The end of _The Eleventh Hour._ It has been...quite a journey, for me as a writer and probably for you all as readers. It's...I just don't have the words for it right now, but all I can say is that this has been an adventure. This story has gone through alterations and rewrites galore, but ultimately I am so pleased with how it has turned out.

Thank you, all of you, for sticking with me until this point. All of you reviewers, signed in and anonymous, have been so encouraging and helpful to me, helping to steady me and keep me on track as well as sharing in a few laughs and happy exchanges. Truly, thank you all.

That said, I will say there is a reason that the last chapter has taken a little longer than usual (besides recovering from the ridiculous length of the last chapter): I was also writing the first chapter of the third installment of this little series I've got going on. I wanted to complete both before posting the new chapter, and...I did. The new story is called, _By First Light_ , and it is in the Captain America (movies) sections of this site. It can be found in the links to my stories on my profile page, and if you're so inclined, feel free to check it out. I'm ready to start the next adventure—how about you?

I don't own anything from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references I may have made in the text.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I will see you in the next story.  
—PhantomProducer


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